I hate blogging. Really. I do. It’s like a drug or a disgusting food you can’t stop eating although you know it’s destroying your insides and making you fat!
I can’t stop. It keeps me from doing other things, but when I write a blog and hit publish, euphoria overcomes me like a heroin addict feeling that first warm rush after the needle is emptied into his vein and the opiate rushes through every cell of his body.
Then, the waiting begins. Slowly the likes come to my inbox, refreshing the euphoria and answering the question, “is anyone really reading this crap?” Sure, it is is vindicating when people like or better yet comment either positively or negatively. Even when they like it, I ask, “did they read it? Because if they did, there is no way they could have really liked it!!!”
When I really hate blogging, however, is when I want to express something and there is nothing there to express! I sit and wait for inspiration to arrive and nothing comes. Reminds me of when I was a teenager, and I would hope the girl I had a crush on would call, and I would wait for the phone to ring but it never did.
When I really, really hate blogging, is when I write something I believe is fundamentally profound and not one person likes or comments or even looks at the darn post!
Whoever started this concept, needs to be exposed like a drug pusher who prays on defenseless street junkies. Set a trap, capture the bastard and show him and tell him, “you have ruined my life you soulless SOB!!!” Don’t you know writers are like drug addicts, addicted to expression?
I sit here. It is dark and rainy out there. Only one house’s Christmas lights are lit. All I can think about are the things I am not doing.
I hate blogging.