writing

Late to the Party

Are you happy, Mom?? I started a blog! And only after you’ve told me to do so for four years… Which started after blogging had been “a thing” for probably another four. It takes me a long time to come around. I’m the last girl standing who loves CDs, typewriters (Tom Hanks isn’t a girl) and will flip out when my VHS tapes or their player give out at long last. Three solid years passed when I was still printing out Mapquest directions and calling/texting my best friend from my flip phone, asking her to look up phone numbers or trivia using her fancypants Blackberry, then iPhone, when I was out and about. (Hi, Mel! Your first shoutout on the blog!) I joined Twitter in November 2016, and my Myspace profile still exists, but lest you think I’m a total loser*, that is true only because I forgot the password to the email address I used for the account and thus, literally cannot kill it.

I dislike change, and apparently that manifests in resisting innovation and new technologies, as magical and connective as they can be.

My reluctance to start a blog was lame and excuse-y but it lasted a long time. I loved writing one for a college course I took in 2009, but the audience was my professor and probably no one else. A fantastic gay guy, he gave us prompts, and always had effusive, specific and thorough comments on our work. With a personal blog, my reasoning went, not only was it unclear who would be creeping on my page, but also, I had to think of topics myself. I’m lazy! And I’ve read too many horror stories by and about people who overshare on the damn internet.

Plus, who cares what I have to say? There are plenty of people far more interesting and qualified to talk about anything I want to talk about: books, relationships, environmental activism, mental health, politics taking the world to hell, being a young adult (does being in your 30s still count as young?) who hasn’t gotten it all figured out just yet… Sarah’s Scribbles can sum up in concise, preciously insecure cartoons everything I feel about social interactions and body image. The beautiful, talented Allie Brosh’s Hyperbole & a Half sums up beautifully and talented..ly.. everything I ever wanted to say about depression and anxiety. The Daily Show and Last Week Tonight rarely ever cover anything I didn’t agree with 100%, so just watch those and you’ll know what’s in my brain!

But maybe there is more to say. Allie Brosh may not write again–her anxiety, depression and life circumstances have led her away from even Twitter. So someone–or many someones!– need to pick up the torch. My purpose here, which may have arisen from some not-mid-and-not-quarter life crisis (third life crisis? That makes me sound like a cat), is simple. I would just like to share my stories and opinions, and am willing to do the extra work of figuring out my own topics and balancing how private or open I want to be (which I assume is not a lot of work and I was being dumb that whole time). And in order to be the next Scaachi Koul or Mary Karr**, I can either go get a Master’s in journalism or creative writing… Or I can write this blog. As aforementioned, I’m lazy, so blog it is!

 

*because I care! I really do. I shouldn’t. But I do.

**aka if I want to write a book. I want to write a book. Or at least some essays that someone will read and say, “Damn! That was crazy!” Or, “I remember pogs–they were great.” Or, “I didn’t realize people outside of a psychiatric ward could be so emotionally fucked up, so maybe I’ll be more compassionate to assholes in traffic and in line at the grocery store. Or just all the assholes.” I know, just call me a modern day Plato. Except Plato was maybe even crazier than I am. Maybe not though, because I have never studied Plato and really only know the one quote. Am I thinking of Socrates? Who was the crazy one? I’m making a note to follow up on this.

1 thought on “Late to the Party”

  1. [insert crying laughing emoji here] this is great!! love you and can’t wait to hear more of what’s going on in your brain 🙂
    p.s. thanks for the shout out.

    Like

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