This space is almost dead, it’s so little trafficked by me or others. On many occasions, I’ve been inspired to write something here, but then my little blocks of leisure time are consumed by, you know, leisure, but more often, writing-writing, and my thoughts wisp away, unprocessed and unrecorded.
In any case, I have doubts as to whether this form – the picture-lite, laborious thinky blog – is one that makes sense for me. Here’s a litmus test: I wouldn’t read it if it was someone else’s. So why would I want to write it? There are so many islets of internet life that I could explore should I choose to, each with their own protocol and vibe, and yet in online life, as in real life, I’m more of an observer than a participant. Posting blog content allows me to be passive, doesn’t push me in any way, and is psychologically safe. How is that a good thing? Shouldn’t I just put this content in my journal?
I don’t tend to, though. My journal is overrun with other content, boring stuff, in the main, like how the previous night’s writing went, or how to manage the baffling, post-partum conundrum of being fine with the number on the scale, fine with how I look in clothes, but not-fine with the physical reality of how my body has rearranged itself. (I don’t know how to manage this yet, but I think it’s a combination of strength training, eating fewer refined carbohydrates, and acceptance.) Basic, first-world shit.
So perhaps there is still some utility to this space to me personally, as a place to overthink various pop cultural things that Seth cannot bear to hear me repeat for the fourteenth time as I close in on whatever position has been eluding me. This girl will ride again, if only for the moment.