Well, it’s Thursday night and I can’t think of a bloody thing to write for tomorrow’s blog. I used to be able to put it off until the day of, but I have been volunteering about 7 hours a day lately, so I suddenly find that all of my videogame, procrastination, and writing time have been eaten up by actually being of use to someone.
As such, here I am writing a post-modern, self-referential post. And that makes me so sad I could cry.
I’ve been pretty ruthless with myself for the last 6 months or so. I decided that I would be a steady, three-post-a-week blogger, knowing that I am likely calling out into a vast and empty void with no more than a handful of readers (made up of equal parts family and people that are hoping that I will mention them in a story), but also knowing that the act of writing is much like the act of lifting weights: exercise pays dividends. I figure that I shouldn’t dismiss 113 posts as a waste of time if I truly believe that someday, perhaps many years from now, I will be writing to at least supplement my income, if not as an outright living.
Of course, that seems like a very distant possibility these days.
Maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. Maybe I should understand this whole process to be a sort of “blog therapy,” a psychoanalytical process for an age of virtual connections and Freudian hard drives.
(I’m just digging through the badly fragmented sections of my storage, places where emotional bumps have caused catastrophic head crashes and bad sections in my life. I’m looking for some way to increase my RAM so that I can get more things done at once, but the slots are all incompatible with what the world is offering me. My power supply is insufficient for what I want to process, my fan is leaving me feeling dusty and drained, and I’m pretty sure that I am losing more connections every day.)
(Don’t even get me started on the issues with my faulty programming.)
So please bear with me as I talk things out with you. Things are moving a bit more on the job front, possibilities are fleetingly presenting themselves like shy nymphs in a dense forest of unemployment (what the…?), and there will be a baby here in May that I know will solve all of my problems by being cute and perfect and tiny.
Have a wonderful weekend, and may your days be free of uncertainty, computer analogies, and the forcible joining of nymphs to an unemployment metaphor.