It's not that I don't enjoy blogging. Quite the contrary actually. It just scares me a little. The kind of blogging I want to engage in anyway. You see, I like to write. Which in and of itself is not the problem. The problem is that I like to write what I know strictly and unadorned. I suppose I could write fiction, but every time I do, my overly deprecating self tells me it's a little too far-fetched. This is not to say those who write fiction aren't writing what they know; they're just more imaginative with the telling of it. I don't have that knack. Or if I do, it is dulled from disuse.
The point is, the things I know these days don't lend themselves to easy writing. They're heavy and somber and generally lacking in that ubiquitous escapism feel of lifestyle blogs. And so I've stayed away.
I thought about apologizing for not having much "sugar and spice and all things nice," but I'm not really sorry about it. I'm not a generally morose sort. At least I don't think so. But at this time in my life, melancholy has a certain draw on me. I mostly hate that I'm largely gloomy these days, but if I'm being completely honest I should be a tad devastated without it too. We've been together for so long.
I think it's supposed to be romantic, you know, the whole tortured, long-suffering artist thing. Mostly, though, I feel like a huge cliche for it. But at the same time I don't want to reduce my very real anxieties just to escape being branded typical. You see my dilemma.
I went back and read this post I wrote a while back when this blog was just past newly minted. I think I needed the reminder. Here's the thing (and this is more for my benefit, so pray you don't take offense): this is my space. I carved it out consciously. I cannot get hung up on keeping up appearances. All that does is stay my hand, my mind from creating, because if it isn't there, I won't fabricate it. The good, the terrible, and everything in between gets represented here. If you're still following, that's great -- I cannot adequately express how much that means -- and if not, I'm sorry to see you go but I grow tired of editing myself just to please unknowns.
I've been typing and retyping this manifesto-of-sorts for several hours now, playing this song aggressively during that whole time, and playing virtual Sudoku intermittently throughout. I should get some sleep. Thanks for reading!
