Why?
Something I am not particularly sure about is why I blog.
What's the point?
Who really needs to hear my pointless blather about my insecurities or things that make me seriously pissed off? How many times must I rant about Titanic? Who needs to know what silly things amuse me? It's not like I'm writing the great American novel here, or even promoting myself and my skills in some way. Occasionally, I write something that takes time, thought and effort but that is the exception rather than the rule. It is more akin to journaling than anything, the only difference is that it is censored. Not by the powers that be or anything, but by me. It's public, to which I take no exception. Anyone who has ever asked "hey, how're you doin'?" knows that I have no trouble being honest about where I am at in any given moment, but I do tend to stifle myself a little bit. After all, my Dad and my brother have my blog address and I do wonder how their delicate constitutions would handle it if I added too many personal details about, well, things. I know the chances of them actually reading me are pretty slim, but...what if? I already have a post about my uncomfortable pap smear- what if I let other things slide? Would they die of embarassment and never be able to look at me again? My sisters? Nah. They can handle it. Perfect strangers? Hell, I don't really care what they know about me as long as I tickle their curiosity.
I did choose not to publish a paragraph or two in which I sarcastically (and rather humorously, I thought) advocated a violent overthrow of the United States government. However, I am just not ready to put my money where my mouth is on that one. So, I axed it. I'd hate to go to Gitmo for sarcasm. If there is one thing this Administration has made painfully clear it is the fact that they just don't have a sense of humor.
Physicists have a frustrating little problem (as, I suppose, do all humans) which is that one can never really know the true nature of anything because the simple act of observation changes the object under scrutiny. As much as I might try to peel back the layers of my self the more I change. Therefor, I could never really get to know myself unless I ignore myself. Well shit. Where's the fun in that? My ego simply wouldn't allow it.
Now I'm back to the original question. Why the hell am I blogging? I suppose it is a nice way to pretend I am in touch with people I have not seen in years. It half revives old friendships to a zomie-like state of poke and run. Don't get me wrong, this is preferable to going through the next few decades wondering what the hell ever happened to so and so and wondering if they're still pissed at me. But reunions and such generally take care of those things before you die. Isn't that what reunions are for? I'm not sure that is a valid reason.
Maybe it is because I am bored and have no one to talk to. In which case, I just need to get out more. I don't need to use this electronic gateway to the world when I have the actual world outside my door. I'm not a recluse, not by any stretch of the imagination. I have friends and I am social. So...
Some people told me I should, so I did. It took me a while to get into it, but I did. I guess they were tired of my ceaseless rants about the world clogging up their inboxes. A blog keeps me busy and out of their hair. It's a shiny toy to distract me.
Don't I have enough distractions, though? Husband, kid, two hermit crabs, a Spanish class that goes nowhere, volunteering at school, teaching my own classes, my real writing...Maybe my life needs to be more focused.
I keep talking to my home school kids about focus. Get rid of the distractions and be. I've got a lot of noise in my life. Is the blog part of the noise or part of the process? I'm not entirely sure. It could be part of the process, if used properly. I'm just not sure if I have a handle on it yet. Of course, my focus is not 100%.
I don't know what I want out of life. Not anymore. Now ain't that a kick in the head? I'm doing some semblance of what I wanted to do since I was 14 years old (if not since I was 5, but can we really count that?) but the key word here is "semblance". Am I here because I want to be or because I am afraid to be somewhere else?
And what does this blog have to do with any of it?
What's the point?
Who really needs to hear my pointless blather about my insecurities or things that make me seriously pissed off? How many times must I rant about Titanic? Who needs to know what silly things amuse me? It's not like I'm writing the great American novel here, or even promoting myself and my skills in some way. Occasionally, I write something that takes time, thought and effort but that is the exception rather than the rule. It is more akin to journaling than anything, the only difference is that it is censored. Not by the powers that be or anything, but by me. It's public, to which I take no exception. Anyone who has ever asked "hey, how're you doin'?" knows that I have no trouble being honest about where I am at in any given moment, but I do tend to stifle myself a little bit. After all, my Dad and my brother have my blog address and I do wonder how their delicate constitutions would handle it if I added too many personal details about, well, things. I know the chances of them actually reading me are pretty slim, but...what if? I already have a post about my uncomfortable pap smear- what if I let other things slide? Would they die of embarassment and never be able to look at me again? My sisters? Nah. They can handle it. Perfect strangers? Hell, I don't really care what they know about me as long as I tickle their curiosity.
I did choose not to publish a paragraph or two in which I sarcastically (and rather humorously, I thought) advocated a violent overthrow of the United States government. However, I am just not ready to put my money where my mouth is on that one. So, I axed it. I'd hate to go to Gitmo for sarcasm. If there is one thing this Administration has made painfully clear it is the fact that they just don't have a sense of humor.
Physicists have a frustrating little problem (as, I suppose, do all humans) which is that one can never really know the true nature of anything because the simple act of observation changes the object under scrutiny. As much as I might try to peel back the layers of my self the more I change. Therefor, I could never really get to know myself unless I ignore myself. Well shit. Where's the fun in that? My ego simply wouldn't allow it.
Now I'm back to the original question. Why the hell am I blogging? I suppose it is a nice way to pretend I am in touch with people I have not seen in years. It half revives old friendships to a zomie-like state of poke and run. Don't get me wrong, this is preferable to going through the next few decades wondering what the hell ever happened to so and so and wondering if they're still pissed at me. But reunions and such generally take care of those things before you die. Isn't that what reunions are for? I'm not sure that is a valid reason.
Maybe it is because I am bored and have no one to talk to. In which case, I just need to get out more. I don't need to use this electronic gateway to the world when I have the actual world outside my door. I'm not a recluse, not by any stretch of the imagination. I have friends and I am social. So...
Some people told me I should, so I did. It took me a while to get into it, but I did. I guess they were tired of my ceaseless rants about the world clogging up their inboxes. A blog keeps me busy and out of their hair. It's a shiny toy to distract me.
Don't I have enough distractions, though? Husband, kid, two hermit crabs, a Spanish class that goes nowhere, volunteering at school, teaching my own classes, my real writing...Maybe my life needs to be more focused.
I keep talking to my home school kids about focus. Get rid of the distractions and be. I've got a lot of noise in my life. Is the blog part of the noise or part of the process? I'm not entirely sure. It could be part of the process, if used properly. I'm just not sure if I have a handle on it yet. Of course, my focus is not 100%.
I don't know what I want out of life. Not anymore. Now ain't that a kick in the head? I'm doing some semblance of what I wanted to do since I was 14 years old (if not since I was 5, but can we really count that?) but the key word here is "semblance". Am I here because I want to be or because I am afraid to be somewhere else?
And what does this blog have to do with any of it?
posted by Bree O'Connor at 8:13 PM
1 Comments:
Poke.
Run.
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