Ever get fed up with blogging?
I do.
Sometimes during moods of unexpected intensity.
“Why continue, then?” you ask.
(Notice me discerning your thoughts? Pretty cool, eh?)
“Because I don’t have a life,” is the basic answer.
Being chronically ill reduces capacity for enjoyable activities.
“Which activities are those?” you inquire.
(My mind-reading’s on a roll, today.)
“Hmm. Let’s see.”
“Say the first thing arising.”
“Er. Maybe the second thing.”
“Why not the first?”
“It was slightly inappropriate.”
“Go ahead. After all, who cares?”
“Excuse me?”
“Face facts. Hardly anybody’s interested.
They wearied of your existential rambling months ago.
And the depressing poetry.”
“Hang on, a minute…”
“Hence you’re left talking to yourself in cyberspace.
Like a person suffering multiple personality disorder.”
“Listen, rude inner-voice doubling as imaginary interlocutor,
such disrespect for a fellow, on his own website, appears poor etiquette.
Can’t you find redeeming features?”
“There’s no compulsory optimism, I suppose.”
“OK. Now please be quiet, as I wish to address my audience.”
“Both at once? LOL!”
Dear Reader, do you ever get sick of blogging?
Does anything help?
I remember advice articles suggest ending on a question.
Though people often ignore mine.
Perhaps engagement stays low since I’m a bad writer?
Yet, no-one wants to admit that, about their work.
Except, I just did.
But, wait:
isn’t honesty a positive quality?
So, might this downbeat post negate its own negativity?
Has my failure gone meta?
Could meta-failure
form a kind of success?
(Thus, when I’m trying to think the way out,
philosophy pulls me back in.)
🤔
Hi all!
Attempts at spontaneous writing took a silly turn this week. 🙃
(Influence of British humour upon me, since childhood, is not easily escaped.)
Comments are always VERY welcome?
Art on the blog is mine, hope you like it?
Thank you for reading.
( anxiety /art / blog / depression / humor / humour / life / mental health / poetry / prose / reading / thoughts / writing )
