So I just discovered a funny, funny woman blogging: finslippy. Go check her out. I’d provide a link if I could but I’m too technologically illiterate. I mean god I am such a techno-idiot! I can’t even access statcounter so I can see who’s reading my blog. I tried, and I can’t get it to work. So go ahead read! Or don’t! I don’t know if you are or you aren’t! I don’t know anything! The only thing I know is
erotics that I wish I were as funny as finslippy.
Here’s another thing. I have a ridiculous number of bloggable thoughts. I have them all day long. And they all seem to me measured, philosophical, funny, and “of general interest.” I could blog all friggin’ day long! But I don’t. Because I need to curb my internet-induced megalomania. Because I’d put you all on overload, and tire you out. And because in real life I’m not a megalomaniac at all, but as insecure and paranoid as the next gal.
And really I might actually have to stop blogging some time soon. I don’t understand what it is, this B-L-O-G-G-I-N-G, and I don’t know why I do it, and I don’t know what it does to me. And don’t you be sending me links to other people’s thoughts about the nature and purpose of the blog. Thanks but no thanks. I need to figure out myself why it is that I’m sometimes happy when I post diary, and sometimes happy when I post grammar, and sometimes happy when I post philosophy, and mostly not all that happy at all.
My next few posts (if they exist! but am I too far gone to stop?) might be finslippy inspired. But for now, let me just stay on this theme of insecurity and paranoia.
You know how at four in the morning you wake up convinced that you’re a fraud and a failure? I’ve talked to lots of people about this, male and female. Soyinka has a poem about it. We KNOW this experience, yes?
And now I’m remembering this woman we interviewed a few years ago for a job in our department, and I happened to mention this 4 in the morning thing to her, and she said, — get this — “Oh really? I’ve never had that experience! Gee, that must be really awful!”
And, get this: I’m afraid that’s what happens to me when I blog. Know what I mean? I’m becoming like that inhuman bimbo (whom we did not hire) who has no self-doubt, who’s wrapped in a cocoon of security, who thinks the entire world is actually interested in what she has to say.
The internet is the devil.