I have been known to describe myself and allow myself to
be described as a writer from time to time yet here sits my precious blog,
untouched going on for more than two years.
I kind of feel like someone who walks around openly
proclaiming to be a champion hot dog eater, but when prompted as to their
personal record, responds with “Fuck, gross! Do you know what’s in those
things? I wouldn’t put that shit in my mouth.” (In my mind, faux-professional
eaters have filthy, filthy mouths.)
I feel incredibly bad that I abandoned my word-baby
mid-story, a story that is probably the defining tale of my life. My excuse was
that I just got busy living and forgot about it but in reality, I think it is
daunting and hard to openly document such personal things.
That is kind of a ridiculous mind-frame in this day and age.
Some people do it so easily. In the social media age, documenting has become
such a filthy and loathsome habit. There was a time when you had to file all of
that shit away in a scrapbook that would sit on a shelf until someone
volunteered to be entertained by your life’s adventures. Now, it’s just right
there, up in your face all the time; every fucking cup of coffee you drink, any
meal you had, every mundane thing your child/animal does that you find adorable
but everyone else could give a piss about, right there documented on a daily
basis in hopes of a virtual thumbs up.
Regardless, I am vowing to embrace the narcissism and do
better with my blog. Starting today. Maybe I will continue on with the story I
abandoned, maybe I will write some ridiculous thought. The important part is
that I do something with that ‘gift’ people keep telling me I have and make a
contribution to world of Internet monotony.
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