I created this blog over a week a go and have largely neglected it. Doing what I do best. Building it up in my mind until it became an endeavor so grand it was impossible to embark on it. I have big thoughts, big plans, big dreams, and this blog is a part of it. For the most part I detest blogs and those that do [maintain a blog.] Regardless, I decided there was at least some personal therapeutic value in maintaining one. Even if I don't become "internet famous" and have thousands of people e-mailing me, "OMG I feel all the exact same ways you do!!!1" regularly journaling should prove a nice way to organize my thoughts. To place them in a tangible form that I can view (semi-)objectively.
For as long as I can remember I've "bided my time." Even as a child, I spoke late, but when I eventually did, it was a full grammatically correct and accurately enunciated sentence. My ego and I like to think that this is a symbol for my overall behavior. A very positive way of writing off my habitual procrastination.
Ugh.
There's that word again. Maybe I just wasn't ready yet? Okay? Look at how much and how quickly I've typed this little bit. (You don't know, but I assure you this has flowed right off my fingertips in a manner of seconds.)
The entire purpose behind my starting this (despite a little spite aimed toward an unnamed individual) was to have somewhere to "rest". Somewhere to put all the thoughts and ideas that have not yet coalesced into a fictional narrative or poem or something. As a writer, I often spend good portions of my day poring over something I've written and trying to revise it. Either to shave it with Occam's Razor to something brief and concise or to expound upon something too glib. Or simply just re-wording something so that it sounds pleasant to the ear or looks cool to the eye. This was to be my escape. My vacation. I'm always going to write, it's just a fact of my life, but I don't always want to write under the pretense of trying to write SOMETHING. Maybe I just want to write to express myself. Directly. In the moment as it unfolds.
I'm gonna try not to fuck with fonts, or spacing or bolds or italics or anything, and any time I do is an example of where I have strayed from the path I've presently set down for myself.
If I want to create something beautiful or refined, then I will work on beauty and refinement. For now however, I just want to write. I don't have any one particular person that I can communicate everything I want to in this world, so this blog will become the perfect digital "friend" of sorts. An always-open ear. Nonjudgmental , no sass, no constructive criticism, no crippling praise. Nothing. Just a place to put words that NEED OUT OF MY HEAD.
"Thinking is the enemy of perfection."
Don't know who said that, but if it's true, then I personally am the personified enemy of perfection. I think more than anyone I know. I am often (and vehemently) told that I think TOO much. And to a degree, I agree. For a "character" viewed as I am, brash, bold, seemingly recklessly jumping into activity, the truth is, there is a secret process of meticulous analysis going on at all times. Sometimes to a debilitating degree. For a person that seems to "shoot from the hip" instead of thinking things through, you'd be surprised at how much I value simply shooting from the hip and how much I strive to do it.
Without my whims this blog would never have been created and I wouldn't be writing in it now. I'd still be waiting. For the perfect entry. Something symbolic, something transcendent. Something that would never transpire. So here I am. Fuck it. I'm just gonna type and type and type until I don't want to anymore, and if you don't like it, fuck you. This is not for you. It's for me. If you like it too, that's icing on the cake. Not the underlying goal.
And just like that "procrastination" has turned into "biding my time."
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