There are reasons for this.
Sometimes I forget that I blog for myself. I know that you guys read it, and nothing excites me more than someone coming up to me and saying, "Hey Clara, I hope this isn't weird, but I read your blog, and that post about [X] made me think..."
(Why anyone would think it's weird is beyond me. If I didn't want people reading my posts, I'd keep a diary.)
But all of that said, I blog because it sorts out what's in my head. The issue right now is that my head feels pretty sorted out, which doesn't make for especially stimulating blogging.
When I look back on posts of the past (note to self: this is alliterative), I love scrolling through spring of '09. That's when "mentally unstable clara" was born, and I feel like I got some great blogging done in those days.
The other issue is that every time I try to write something, I can't help but imagine my mom calling me up and saying, "I read your blog post!" and me wanting to (A) hang up immediately or (B) die. I'm pretty sure I'm at a point in my life where I don't need my mother's input on every thought that goes through my mind, but I'm inclined to put those thought up here where she can see them, which anyone would rationally argue constitutes permission to comment.
These are my conundra right now (why does no one say "conundra"?). And that's why I've been a terrible blogger lately.
Love always,
Clara
- I've been traveling.
- I didn't know what to say.
- I suck.
Sometimes I forget that I blog for myself. I know that you guys read it, and nothing excites me more than someone coming up to me and saying, "Hey Clara, I hope this isn't weird, but I read your blog, and that post about [X] made me think..."
(Why anyone would think it's weird is beyond me. If I didn't want people reading my posts, I'd keep a diary.)
But all of that said, I blog because it sorts out what's in my head. The issue right now is that my head feels pretty sorted out, which doesn't make for especially stimulating blogging.
When I look back on posts of the past (note to self: this is alliterative), I love scrolling through spring of '09. That's when "mentally unstable clara" was born, and I feel like I got some great blogging done in those days.
The other issue is that every time I try to write something, I can't help but imagine my mom calling me up and saying, "I read your blog post!" and me wanting to (A) hang up immediately or (B) die. I'm pretty sure I'm at a point in my life where I don't need my mother's input on every thought that goes through my mind, but I'm inclined to put those thought up here where she can see them, which anyone would rationally argue constitutes permission to comment.
These are my conundra right now (why does no one say "conundra"?). And that's why I've been a terrible blogger lately.
Love always,
Clara
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