Hello, my beloved little squirrels! I’m here today to not only resurrect my over-a-month-long-neglected blog, but to tell you that I have angst. Yes, I have blogger angst, and of course I’m going to tell you about it, because that’s why people HAVE blogs.
*applies thick coating of black eyeliner, lights candles and puts The Cure on iPod*
Blogger angst is a tricky thing. I’ve been staring at a blank screen since February, trying to think of something Important! And Relevant! to talk about, and I’ve come up with bupkus. Sure I could talk about finding Finn splayed out in front of Goddo and everyone and Lulu sleeping IN HIS CROTCH, but that would be gauche, and anyway, I can just show you a picture.
Or I could talk about my new haircut, and how I’m concerned about it being too emo, but I could just show you a picture of that too.
And pictures of my slutty cats and a selfie hardly count as a blog entry, am I right? So I kept staring at the screen, negotiating with myself.
Me: I have to write something MEANINGFUL. Something DEEP.
Common Sense: Oh please. You just talked about your cats living in a den of sin.
Me: I’m slacking. Blogs are dying. I’m not doing anything interesting. Everything is angst. I’m going to listen to Disintegration again.
CS: Will you just SHUT UP? Listen, sure you don’t get to go to Disney World because you blog. Maybe thousands of people don’t read you. Maybe you STILL haven’t written your book. But you LOVE writing, and you love the people who take time out of their lives to read it. Quit gazing at your shoes and love your blog for what it is. And get moving, you’re only 309 words in, and you have this weird thing about writing 500 words per post, and seriously, you’re on, like, a million psych meds, NONE of which are helping with your strange OCD tendencies.
Me: I’m NOT gazing at my shoes. I’m not WEARING shoes.
CS: Also, you need a pedicure.
Me: No way. I only get them when I have a gift certificate, and they make me anxious.
CS: How in the name of pants can a pedicure make you anxious?
Me: Another person, a person I do not know, is cleaning my nasty-ass feet. A PERSON WHO ISN’T JESUS.
CS: So it would be kosher if Jesus was giving you a pedicure?
Me: I see what you did there.
CS: I’m way more clever than you are.
Me: You really are. So have we reached 500 words yet?
CS: Nope. I don’t think this blog post is going to score us an all-expenses paid trip to Disney World.
Me: That sucks. I love Soarin’. That’s the best ride. Also the smoking corners.
CS: We know where ALL the smoking corners are!
Me: I know! Happiest place on earth, right???
CS: We’re awesome! And you reached 500 words.
Me: Still no Disney World.
CS: But that’s okay, right? I mean, you’re writing, and that’s what counts.
Me: Damn right. Let’s eat some pizza.
And? That’s how I got over my blogger angst. Sure I don’t make a dime from this. Sure I don’t have thousands of readers or a book or a verified Twitter account. And the bloggers who do? I love you! I think it’s awesome that you did your thing and got what you deserve. Never doubt that. I think I’ll just keep writing. Cause that’s just the dance I do.
Six hundred words. I’ve even exceeded myself. And that’s rad.