I used to blog all the time. I like blogging. It’s cathartic. It gets stuff off your chest. It takes thoughts out of your head and posts them on the Internet, for all to see. A little like confession, I suppose, though you don’t have to reserve blogging for just the things you are ashamed of.
It’s a self centered activity, though. It’s all about me as I sit here thumbing this into my iPhone. It’s presumptuous. I’m presuming you give a flying fart what I’m writing here. Actually scratch that; because it’s so about me I don’t give a flying fart for your flying fart.
In related news, the air here in my blog is fresh and clean.
When Coop was born, I found I had a lot more priorities and a shrinking amount of time to do them in. The blog sort of fell by the wayside. Oddly, I think my writing actually picked up. I’ve been writing more, but it’s been for self therapeutic reasons. When too much is swimming around in my brain I get out a pen and a letter size notepad and I just write whatever it is out of there without line breaks or paragraphs. It works wonders. Takes me about 15 minutes first thing in the morning and then I’m a better man for it all day.
I’ve never read anything I’ve written that way. As soon as I finish the last sentence, I tear the sheet up and throw it away. The purpose is served, and I don’t want anything incriminating lying around for others to see.
It’s a pity, because I bet there are some fine blog posts in those torn bits of paper.
But I miss the blogging, I really do. And the process of writing and destroying those sheets of paper has reminds me that writing is good for me.