Blogful Thoughts

Today, I have had time to ponder wonderfully.

A fair while ago now, I started a blog. It saw a substantial stint of writage, but hasn't had action for the last couple of years or so. It was open to the whole internet at first, until I belatedly discovered that the whole internet meant that people close to me were privy to my embarassingly honest inner thoughts. From then on, it became limited to a few people who were effectively strangers. And then I decided I wanted to know more strangers on the internet, so I started a new blog.

Of the sites I frequent, I realise I am unusual in one particular aspect - as far as I am aware, no-one I know or have met reads this blog. I gather from various mentionings that many of the people I read know another blogger in person or at least better than I would claim to know any of you.

It's part of the thing that makes this whole writing online deal a bit of a weird thing to be doing. I can't have a personal website where I let anyone know what I'm doing without becoming immediately contrived as I find that I simply can't be straightforward in what I write because half of this isn't really who I am. Who writes like they talk, after all? I can't have a totally anonymous blog without finding myself interacting with people to a certain extent, and anyway, as has been proven before, you can never be sure who is watching secretly...

I fall into the internet when I need a comforting crutch to support myself. It's so easy and so avaliable that it's hard to resist, and maybe there's a metaphor in there somewhere. But yes, I could become entwined in all of it, absorb it and feel all warm and fuzzy and full of big bales of yay. But then there comes a point when you're really alone. And no-one's posted anything today, and there's no new comments to make everything okay. Or if they do or there are, you find it doesn't really help anyway. And I think sometimes it's at that point when you realise that although it's convenient and fills a void partway, it's never going to fill your little world right up, and this is definitely becoming somewhat double meaning'd.

So I'm left in this kind of no-man's land. I write, but what I say is carefully guarded and somewhat - unavoidably - forced, in a way. It's not natural, because I don't know how to say it all without considering what people might think when they read it, how they are quick to draw conclusions and make assumptions before I so much as hit the enter key. I trip over myself with stupid analogies to dress up the regular confusion that comes with life.

At the end of it, I suppose it comes down to this latent desire to show off. I don't know what I'm showing off, exactly, but I'm pretty sure that's it. That's all it ever is. Attention-seeking drama queen; mistress of mystery.

What else would you expect?

On the jukebox: Adele ~ Make You Feel My Love