I keep thinking about things I should write about but, by the time I actually sit down and try to write them, I don’t really care enough to write anything worth reading. When I abandon those thoughts altogether and try to just write something else entirely, I feel that nearly-crippling fear of the blank page and that impatiently blinking vertical line. I’m having one of those terrible moments in which my mind is swarmed with thoughts like, “this is it. I’m done. I have written all I will ever write,” and, “I was never really a writer to begin with. I should really just stop this nonsense and focus on things I can actually do…” and so on and so forth. I know that these thoughts aren’t necessarily true and I know that they will eventually pass but I still have no idea what on earth I’m even doing with my fingers on these keys. I’ve been reading too many different things and I don’t know where my voice is at the moment. I’m feeling very pretentious right now, or rather, I’m judging myself to be pretentious. Or I’m imagining other people to be judging me as pretentious. Is there a difference, really?
Anyway, I have a little note on my phone with a few abandoned ideas that I’ll probably get around to caring about and writing about within the next couple of months, but it’s just not going to happen for this month’s post. I just needed to fulfill my personal goal of at least one post per month so I can feel a little less…terrible. Or whatever.
Okay, I shouldn’t let this post go on much longer.
I’m thinking about the people who will probably read this and I feel a little sorry for them – for you. But not sorry enough to delete this post or refrain from posting links to it on my various social media pages 😉 I’m just going to type away and create some drivel and you’ll probably waste a bit of your time letting your eyes fall on every word until you’ve – blessedly – reached the end. You may now breathe a sigh of relief, because here it is. The end.