A Blog Introduces

Brain is dead. In as much as the blog follows where I lead, it may be on the critical list. My head hurts.

I was trying to work out what to write about here, and went through a variety of options aimed at either pathetically excusing myself, or getting me writing again. Both of which are probably self-flattering annoyances to... pretty much any reader I can imagine that isn't my mum. Actually, my mum would probably skip it too.

I thought I could talk about how a blog requires me to have some kind of life to write about, either online or in the (dreaded) RealWorld. This is probably partly why things aren't working out too well right now. I live online currently, but in an online virtual 1920s Chicago rather than anywhere that I could legitimately write about. Actually, now that it occurs to me, I might start writing more about that wonderful place I keep going to in my head, and I might even post some of it. But not right now, and not necessarily here.

It also occurred to me that I might link to various other people's reasons for slacking around with regards to their blogs. That link rings particularly true, because I am feeling the need for more direct and trivial chat than ever before. But in contrast to that link, online rather than RealWorld, and I am still writing, just not in the 21st century, as previously mentioned. Chat feels rather exceptionally lifeline-like at the moment, and forming more coherent thoughts suddenly seems like such hard work.

As I've been falling apart I've been retreating more and more into my comfy dreamworld, and to be honest I'm really quite happy there for the present.

Anyway, so I was going to angst for a bit about why I'm not blogging. It's really quite dramatic, full of repressed emotions and self-hurt. But, this is what I hate about life commentary, it's really far too interesting and melodramatic to actually make credible reading. I could possibly write quite a good autobiography of the first 18 years of my life, but I'm such a cliché I don't think it would be anywhere near readable. Such a tragic waste of spurious material.

The other option was to get me writing. Having spent the last six months attempting to get Cathy writing regularly again, I figure I can hardly be a harder case than her. And I'm going to keep insistently mentioning her here until she does start those typing fingers up again, because, well, just because I can. So, what to do about me?

An opinion of some kind? I'd have to read something and think about it for long enough to form an opinion on it before I could do that. I really can't be bothered. I just clicked "mark all read" on my bloglines account, and I'm tired and currently far too mellow to get worked up about anything. I'm busy enjoying my lethargy, and I don't intend to ruin it for anything very much at all.

I could go dig up some good links. It's been a while since I fed this thing links. Once more with the effort and the apathy.

Childhood anecdote? There was that time when I skipped church to go watch the Chicago cubs play the pirates back in '11 and got caught by my suffragette mother, pulled out of school and sent to work at the meat-packing plant. Oh, wait, dreamworld, check, gotcha.

So that leaves me with projects. Stunt-style antics. And I'm going to ignore that collective groan I think I just heard. The fact is that I'm always thinking up blog-based pranks to play that just aren't practical for a blog of this size. Maybe one day I'll email off some of these crazy notions to some of the proper big-time bloggers, but for the moment it's time to think a little bit more within the box. I thought I'd start another drabble series, but a sci-fi one this time, because I'm bored and feel like pissing off some genre. But that would be silly. I wouldn't ever want this blog to be accused of being silly.

So I thought to myself, what would this blog like me to write? Not what would the readers of this blog like me to write, because I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you really are not the point of the exercise. What would this blog like me to write? If LaceOverSand could slap me around the face and tell me what to do with myself, how exactly would he/she/it go about the matter?

And then of course that was it, the blog-bunny had bitten. Annoying excuse for a rodent. In the spirit of self-obsession that is the blogging habit itself, it had to be written.

A Blog Introduces

A fairly normal shaped girl of fairly normal height in a fairly normal church hall walks smoothly up to a set of unimagintively arranged stage blocks. She looks maybe early- to mid-twenties in age, and has bright green hair, slightly frizzy and tied back with elastic to form a somewhat electrified bundle. There are a few bemused friends and relatives watching, and only one of them could be described as overtly encouraging. Someone coughs in the dusty air at the back of the hall, a stranger in an overcoat, there for no reason immediately fathomable. LaceOverSand reaches the spotlight, and shuffles nervously in platformed black techno boots, all buckles and catches. This is the only obvious sign of her nerves and her shoulders hang loosely balanced as she studies a tatoo on her forearm, reading cryptic notes made for her perusal only. She smiles directly and taps the microphone nervously, hoping her software is not cancerous.

Clearly, she speaks, echoing out her thoughtless "testing" comment. Please work, she thinks, please please please work. She smiles smugly and knows there is no reason to worry. She calms her inner blogger, such an inexperienced child in her world, and sets to work.

Posted by Missiedith at March 27, 2004 12:18 AM | TrackBack