|Hmmmm. Something's missing here, what is it?|
Oh I know, eyebrows!
|There we go. That's better.|
A scream bleats out
We're herded into lines
Customized vans wait outside
I'm getting scared of my new home
To Auschwitz condominiums we go
~ Dead Kennedys
My cousin J in Australia told me yesterday that he checks my blog all the time to see how I’m doing, cuz I never answer my phone.
Ahhhh, my blog, how infrequently I visit you. I used to be on my blog every single day, tracking and recording each and every insignificant little detail of my insignificant little life. So if you couldn’t reach me on my phone - and chances are, you couldn’t - you could just go to my blog and see how I’m doing and what I’ve been up to.
Somewhere along the way, though, I kind of lost sight of what I was doing and why I had started a blog in the first place. All of a sudden I had all these rules for what I could post, a paradigm to be followed of what each entry should look like and what it should include. Every post had to be well written and edited, polished and perfected before it could be posted. I wanted everything on my blog to be a shining example of my finely tuned writing skills, and anything that didn’t meet my criteria went straight into the trash.
The more rigorous my standards became, though, the less I looked forward to writing on my blog. I didn’t have an hour to write out a well researched essay on Jello Biafra’s 1981 graveyard wedding, or to list verbatim every word exchanged during my last therapy session with Dr. Adorable. And I certainly didn’t have time to edit and polish it five hundred billion times. But as a self-proclaimed terminal perfectionist, if I couldn’t write something outstanding like I wanted to, well then I wasn’t going to write anything at all. Either I found the time to write the most profound prose ever written in the history of man, or I sat on my ass eating Cheetos and watching The Colbert Report.
As you can see from the bare bones of my blog right now, sitting on my ass eating Cheetos has tended to win out. I just don’t have the time to write something good and then edit it and then obsess about it and then worry that it’s crap and all the other pointless, dismal stuff that goes into my writing process. And why? Really, why? It’s a BLOG. It’s not a goddamn thesis paper. Whatever that is.
So when my cousin J mentioned yesterday that he always goes to my blog to find out how I am doing, I realized that there really wasn’t much of anything for him to find, cuz I haven’t written any of it.
It’s true that I don’t have a lot of time to write. I am no longer living in a hop-sital, or working as an exotic dancer, dancing just four half-hour shows a day. I work full time at the tattoo shop, I have a boyfriend with a four-year-old daughter, and I have three crazy mutts that demand constant attention at home. I don’t have time to write, say, a daily assessment of my teetering sanity and it’s effects on my physical well being. But I DO have time to write about, say, what happens when you decide to pluck your eyebrows after a night out drinking with your friends:
|The answer is, you will look like a complete twat|
for the next two months.
Or that I got my autographed copy of Henry Rollins’ incredible new book “Occupants” which, despite my disappointment that it did not include a marriage proposal from HR, is a really good book:
|I KNOW there is a marriage proposal in there SOMEWHERE.|
I better just show up at his house unannounced, so we can
discuss it from my vantage point in the bushes.
What does all this rambling boil down to, you ask? It’s simple. I want to get back to what this blog was supposed to be about in the first place: fun. I just wanna check in every couple of days and tell you guys how I’m doing and what’s happening with me, without worrying about whether or not what I’m writing is any good.
With those barriers torn down, I hope that I will be posting a bit more. Of course, sitting on my butt watching Colbert Report is pretty tempting, too, so I guess we shall see which way the wind blows.
Ha ha! Blows.