Not Feeling It

'Blogging.' 

Is that what we still call this thing I do? 

Or has the world turned sufficiently that now it’s just called 'typing something every week and sticking it up on the Internet.' Internet… is that even what we still call it? It’s all becoming a bit of a mystery.

All I know is I’ve been doing this ‘blogging’ thing for longer than seems sensible or viable or even useful.

I look back over the website I post this stuff on. Posts date back to 2008 with no meaningful break in between then and now. A quick bit of (unreliable) addition reveals that there are now 852 posts. Average about 800 words per post and that’s, well, quite a few words.

This isn’t surprising. It’s in my nature to not give up on things. If I start something I like to see it through. That becomes something of a problem when something doesn’t present its own finish line, its own logical end. So, the likelihood is that I’ll keep on doing this until the place I post to shuts down or until I die. I’ve long ago reconciled myself to the fact that this rather futile exercise is for my own benefit, much more than anybody else’s. That’s fine by me. Sometimes I know that some kindly reader will find some use or entertainment in something I put up here. That’s wonderful. An added bonus. Always welcome. But mostly, it’s about me, how I’m happier in myself when I’ve set some words down and shared them around.

A point, Ken, is there a point to this week’s typing?

Not much of a one. Just simply that I’m not really feeling it this past couple of weeks. The only way I can get myself to sit and write this week’s ‘thing’ is to set that very thought down. There is no other thought I feel ready or equipped to deal with today.

Fear not, Ken. (I’m going to talk to myself for a minute now. ‘First sign’ etc.) You’re not going to stop writing these things, not in the immediate future anyway, unless one of the aforementioned scenarios play themselves out. Stopping is not really in your nature. So, if writing a thing this week, about how you have nothing to write, gets you through to next week and a little more inspiration, then so be it. Carry on to the end. Just come back fighting next week and stop pissing around with this navel-gazing malarky.

Why am I not feeling it, I hear you cry. Or rather I hear myself pretending to hear you cry. It’s been one hell of a few weeks, in fairness. Things I don’t want to talk about, at least not yet. Some of them potentially wonderful, some more of them undoubtedly awful. None of them ready for discussion.

Perhaps it’s as simple as that. A series of subjects are monopolising my mind and none of them are ripe or suitable for this ‘thing,’ whatever it is.

I’ve written posts like this before when I’ve gotten stuck. They help me got over the roadblock. The muscle-memory of fingers on a keyboard moves my mind to places and things I can write about. It will probably hatch something-or-other by next week.

Meantime, thanks for dropping by. Sorry that there’s not a good laugh or a silly idea of even a vague memory for you to take away with you.

Maybe next time, eh?