Dear Andrew,

I've never read your diary. I don't think I ever will. No matter, most probably you've never read mine. However, today of all days, I find it fitting to address today's entry to you.

Exactly a year ago I wrote my first entry here. I was very different back then: my hair was longer, I was still in college, I conducted research in structural biology, I had a girlfriend with whom I went out shopping for nice clothes. I'm older now, and single, a little lonely, somewhat more experienced, but still none the wiser. I've lived a whole year, and, thanks in part to you, I lived it in writing.

I was never much of a journal writer. I have a notebook, and occasionally (sometimes as occasionally as once a year) I would scribble something or other in it. Mostly it had to do with my lovelife. Silly stuff. I'm not particularly proud of it.

This space made it possible for me to write regularly. So regularly that I can barely even think about a week spent without typing something up and posting it here. It may not be much, but it is a sort of a purging of the soul, and recently I've been realizing that I need it. That I've always needed it. Not like a drug, but like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Not essential, but very important nevertheless.

This space made it possible for me to make my first steps online, get my web-legs, if you will. I started off with one of those cheezy old templates, then tampered a little with the buttons, then moved on to an ungainly table with a hideous green background. I can do better than that, now. Not too great, to be sure, but better than some stuff I've seen lying about. I am of the last generation that was not "born digital", and this important for me.

A year ago I did not know what an online journal was. A friend of mine kept a web-site that she updated now and then with current news, but that was all I knew, and I didn't realize what kind of a phenomenon it has become. This is important: it is a connection between people that has no precedent. A year ago I didn't know I would become a part of it. Today, I am as comfortable with it as with the clothes I wear.

For all of the above, for making it easy for me to become a part of all this, you have my thanks.

But I am done here. This was a great beginning, but I feel like I can do with something else. You probably noticed it already: the Move (tm). I am by no means the first one to do this. What you have here is (was?) great... but this is better.

And qualitative comparisons aside, I am due for a change. A year in one place seems like too long for me already.

I made this into a huge deal, put up a silly count-down and all. Dropped hints. Sweated over a new layout that is actually quite simplistic. The smallest things are still a big deal for me. Look ma! I made a button all by myself! I do not care. I'm moving, and while these pages are going to stay here, I'm taking copies with me. All this, what I wrote, be it in anger, joy, tears, or daze, it's mine, my life, my life in writing.

I rarely felt so possessive about anything before.

I am also abandoning the name. "Right Hand Rule" sounded like a cute little pun at the time, but it doesn't work anymore. Trust me, I tried. It no longer fits.

Farewell. I hardly knew you, but I liberally made use of these resources that you placed at my fingertips. Unlike many others, I've never experienced any big problems. Even this entry, just like the first one ever, is entered in the D-Land textbox, and not in a word processor, to be pasted over.

Farewell. As far as these things go, it was a good year.

Sincerely,

Art

p.s. As for those of you who would, for some reason, like to keep reading, go here, in case I actually managed to take you by surprise. The fun is over for this place. On the other side, it's just beginning!