Because that is what it is, right? A mix of procrastination and boredom with a hint of self-loathing. I mean, I hope that’s what it is and you are not reading this out of courtesy to me. I enjoy writing this, but care little about who reads it.
I am fine with you not reading, though I’m flattered that you do… But even I can see that not all posts are as well written as I would hope they are (take this one for example). I am still getting the hang of this Blogging thing. It’s harder than you think. But i think I am improving a little. It might still be slightly incoherent, but at least it’s nicely phrased.
I remember when I picked up Blogging again a couple of months ago, I quickly felt like it is something bored people do… You have nothing better to do, so you Blog about nonsense. But now that I am not so bored anymore, I still enjoy it. It’s all nonsense of course, but that is a personal habit that can’t be ironed out over the course of a few months…
For people who come here to read about my adventures in London. I’m not sure I’m gonna be writing much about them. Real life adventures are hard to make interesting. I keep waiting for stuff to blow up, or aliens to land, or George Clooney to walk in… and for some strange reason that never happens. And then I do get bored with my own story.
I mean, yesterday I hung out in a bar and drank delicious Strawberry beer. That’s not an interesting tale. And I could tell you what happened around 10 PM with a group forty-somethings; they were spectacularly wasted and all fell to the floor, picked themselves up, brushed the dirt of their clothes and went on drinking… But you really had to be there to understand what went down. It might have been one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. Someone told me it was really not that unusual which made me even sadder.
So, yea. Brits. Sad people who cannot hold their liquor. But that’s not a story. That’s common knowledge (especially to those who live in Amsterdam and see the sad remainders of a once proud culture drag themselves from bar to bar, curiously wearing pink cowboy hats and very little else that constitutes as clothing). I think by now everyone can see that an Alien Invasion would have made this story ten times more interesting.
I mean, then we are going places. Imagine now that those drunk forty-year-olds had to save us from the vengeful ways of the mean-spirited Zorkians who as it so happens need all our alcohol to power their ship. Now we have a situation… Because no one comes between a depressed and desperate Brit and their national sport -Getting shitfaced after work- and expects to live…
Now I wish that had happened… I for sure wouldn’t be blogging about it.
So, I’m on the fence whether or not blogging is a form of boredom. If I were fighting for my life (or just a chance to go with the Zorkians to the Final Frontier), I sure as hell wouldn’t take the time out to tell you about it. Every woman for herself, suckers…
But there might be a bit of a gray area between fighting for your life and absolute boredom. I say might because I’m not really good with gray tones. I’m more of a black/white person myself. But I suppose I am currently occupying a state that is somewhere between running for my life from angry blobs of space mass and apathetically staring at a white wall wondering why the time won’t go any faster.
I was thinking really hard to bring this whole post to a satisfying conclusion that actually made sense when I just realized that I spent most of this week staring at a white wall, and because of that I had no time to blog. I’m not saying boredom inhibits blogging (one only has to sign in to Tumblr to disprove that hypothesis). No, I was staring at a wall, not blogging about if for a whole nother reason.
It partly stemmed from my body having a really hard time accepting that I again wasn’t with spawn this month, (my body is like, Hurry the fuck up dude… I want to safeguard my wonderful genes by procreating… But then my brain goes… Didn’t you get the memo, that’s not happening. And then my body goes like… Shuck, I really though we could do it this time… and my brain just laughs with no regards for my body’s feeling… and my body is hurting real bad.) (Yea, I just wrote that. Deal with it…)
(continuing) But mostly it was because I was outlining my story on the wall. Turns out the story kind of writes itself. Except all it wants to write is the ending. I have a killer third act… and a nice ending to the second act. I have an opening sequence… and that’s about it.
A whole lot of white.
And that concludes the train of thought. I had no time to Blog because I was busy staring at a giant white wall trying to fill it with fluorescent post-its.. Which proves Blogging really is a form of boredom.
Also, to those of you who finished reading this. Damn man, get a hobby. Seriously. Painting is nice, learn to speak Chinese, Watch the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (or if you feel particularly geeky… I have all the screenplays) or just get really, really drunk (you never know when those Zorkians come to take the Alcohol away). There must be better things to do than read this blog… (kidding, I know there aren’t… This Blog is awesome.)