To Refer to Oneself

I keep debating about posting this at all… Kind of a meandery meaningless ramble through my somewhat incoherent thoughts about blogging.


Recently, I got a few comments on my blog that got me thinking about the whole thing.
I’ve gotten worse comments, honestly. Usually I delete the ones from people who get to my site by looking up “XXX Anime” and write “fuk you” forty times because they’re disappointed that I’m talking about Vin Diesel instead of anime chicks who make it with tentacled monsters. Or the pointlessly rude and badly misspelled comment I got once while complaining about my pregnancy that said “u wil b fat adn unhappy the resp of ur life and so wil ur kid!”
Pointless complaints from illiterate people are worth deleting.
I also routinely delete any blog spam that comes in – people selling p.enis aids or offering cheap prescription drugs or any of that other nonsense. I don’t want to read it in my email, I don’t want to see it on web sites and I certainly don’t want anyone to waste their hard earned money (or even their easily earned money!) on crap they saw on my website.
These comments I went ahead and kept while I debated writing this entry.
I also kept them because I found my sense of the belief strongly tested. Do I really believe two random people found the same old blog entry less then three minutes apart and both of them found the story to be completely pointless? (I might add neither of them had the courtesy to leave an email address or a link to track back to them.) On the other hand, do I really believe that someone hated the entry so much they felt it was necessary to pretend to be two people so that them telling me I sucked was doubly enforced?
There’s no way to know, I suppose, unless they see this entry and decide to tell me in their terribly bad spelling and witless prose that certainly, they are two seperate people and of course it was coincidence that they both found my blog on the same day and of course I’m an idiot. (Don’t bother. I already know I’m an idiot. You don’t need to tell me.)
Of course, reading back over the entry, I tried to remember the point I was attempting to make by writing it in the first place. And what I was trying to get at was my own muzziheadedness combined with a brain that frequently refuses to shut up and let me sleep. I saw the two pairs of shoes and I wondered about the two pairs of shoes. Eventually, unable to sleep despite being tired and sick myself, I had to get up and investigate exactly where my husband was and if he had gone to work, what on earth was he wearing on his feet?
I wondered if I had any business continuing to blog when I was obviously incapable to conveying these feelings of otherworldliness that comes from the disconnected ponderings of a mind still cottoned by sleep. I already know that I don’t write nearly as well as I’d like to, that I am constantly plagued by the knowledge that I will never be able to carry accurately to paper the myriad dreamworlds that inhabit my mind so clearly that it is often a real pang to come back to this dreary, so-called real world. I spend a lot of time reading and feeling that guilty ache of jealousy knowing that I will never write half as well as so many other people.
And my life is not exciting. As a matter of fact, it’s often damn boring. I’m a stay-at-home mom married to a type-A professional. I don’t own a sex shop so that I can have enormously funny anecdotes with which to entertain readers. I don’t even have a regular job about which to post frustrated entries of corporate stupidity. I’m not experiencing any major difficulties that keep people tied to my journal for updates.
Tiny people. With tiny problems. In a great wide open world.
There are thousands, if not tens of thousands, of journals and blogs and musings out there on the web. People who dream, people who do, people who live, people who love. People who can make you laugh and people who can make you cry. Train wreck lives that you can’t stop reading despite knowing that nothing good is ever going to come of what they’re doing. Triumphs of the human spirit. Miracles. People with ordinary boring lives who find clever ways of telling you about it. People who do things you wish you could, people who do things you never would.
I won’t twist your arm to read my blog. And I won’t pretend not to be slightly hurt at being called an idiot.
This is my life. You don’t have to share it with me.
Unless you want to.

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7 Responses to To Refer to Oneself

  1. I could make explosive noises every day about your blog, which I do find an enjoyable read.
    But a lot of times I don’t feel like what I have to add is constructive, so I don’t all the time.
    But if you want me to try more often, I will….

  2. Greg says:

    I always thought your life was interesting. Sometimes a little TOO interesting, in the ancient Chinese clche sort of way.
    But anyway, I think you’re doing this thing right. Slice of life ordinariness with the occasional spurt of the truly weird fits this format quite well.

  3. Liz says:

    1) A confusion: Why would they complain about a post that’s nearly two years old? Why would they be *reading* a post that’s nearly two years old? Was it linked from somewhere? Or were they reading the archives – in which case, surely they would have figured out before that point that your blog is a “slice of life” sort of thing.
    2) I’d like to point out, for the benefit of semi-literate blogtrolls everywhere, that “idiotic/dumb/stupid” and “boring” are not the same thing. Actually, the whole *point* of the post in question was that KT was a little stupid from sleep and allergies. The complaint the idiots (note my use of the vocabulary word in a sentence) *meant* to make was that the entry was *boring.*
    3) I am vastly amused by the second comment, in which the poster complains that the entry was a waste of 2 minutes. (Though I suppose I’ll give her credit for spelling “minutes” correctly.) But surely it took her at least as long to post the complaint as to read the entry? I am amused.
    4) I strongly suspect both posters were a pair of preteen girls surfing the web after having broken the lock on someone’s father’s liquor cabinet, who thought it would be Very Witty (TM) of them to post insulting comments in some old journal entries (the modern equivalent of the prank phone call, perhaps), without realizing that the journal author would in fact be notified whenever someone made a comment, even on the older entries.
    Very classy, girls. Suck on some lemon wedges before your parents get home, or they’ll smell the vodka on your breath.

  4. Matt says:

    I’m quite tired, so I’m not going to be verbose or clever. I’m hoping I’m addressing the right topic, to be honest.
    There are idiots everywhere. Avoiding them is impossible. Enduring them is the socially-acceptable option we’re stuck with.
    Keep writing.
    Incidentially, these are Soda Shoes.

  5. Gris says:

    ::snort:: When/if you delete their witless flames, you can feel free to delete my rant, too.
    I like your blog, no matter how frequently or infrequently you post (tho’ should an opinion be solicited, I’d say frequently is better 😉 ), because it gives me an opportunity to sorta stay in touch and keep track of what’s doing in your head and your life no matter how far away I am or how respectively busy we are. A few minutes of free time, when you have it, to blog, and a few minutes of my free time, when I have it, to read and sometimes post a response. And I even get to have weird, abstruse conversations with other friends about dead languages in the process! 😀

  6. Gris says:

    And Liz… chewing on lemon wedges will really mask vodka on your breath? And how DO you know that, anyway???

  7. Jeff says:

    I read your blog for the same reason I read everyone elses blogs, so I can keep in touch with friends I almost never get to see anymore. Sure we talk online but… A lot of the things that get mentioned in your blog are the little stories and details that don’t seem to make it into online conversations, and yet, particularly the way you write your blog entries, they come closer to conveying the essense of truly being there. (Boy the grammar on that sentence is atrocious). So I think the world world (or at least my world) would be a darker and drearier place without your blog.

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