Oh, whatever, part 2
I've spent the day trying to think about what on earth to write today.
Well, I tell a small lie. I did post something, then decided it was depressing and futile and took it down again. I think my days of the real hardcore confessional blogging (ooh, imagine the site engine hits that will generate) might be behind me*. Anyone who has sat through a thousand word dissertation on How My Mother Has Ruined My Life will now be breathing a fervent sigh of relief and thanking the lord that I've cheered up a bit. I don't know how this shift in perspective has come about. I think it's because the more time I spend in the blogosphere, the more aware I am that there is any amount of turgid waffling out there; people with genuine stories to tell that they are totally unable to stop telling**. It's all very well using your blog as a platform, but the idea of catharsis is a pretty valid one and lord knows that if I can stop banging on about what a fuckup I am, you can shut up for five minutes about your problems. Let's all just, oh, cheer up a bit, shall we?
Let's make a deal. Next time we think about posting something introspective for the fortieth time, why not just tell knock-knock jokes instead?
Knock knock.....
* Please immediately forget I said this. I may need to vent at some point about how my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs Randall, was a child-hating witch and scarred me emotionally at the age of four, thus rendering me unable to formulate effective same-gender relationships and turning me into the stunted emotional cripple that I am today. Oh, and how I've never liked runner beans but my Mum used to make me eat them anyway. Scarred, I tell you....
** I am generalising wildly at this point, and doing that thing where you project what you hate about yourself onto random strangers, or people that you actually quite like and who make you feel small by externalising their problems rather than obsessing constantly over trivia from their pasts. Please pretend you haven't noticed, and consider me a thoughtless witch instead. It's easier that way.
Well, I tell a small lie. I did post something, then decided it was depressing and futile and took it down again. I think my days of the real hardcore confessional blogging (ooh, imagine the site engine hits that will generate) might be behind me*. Anyone who has sat through a thousand word dissertation on How My Mother Has Ruined My Life will now be breathing a fervent sigh of relief and thanking the lord that I've cheered up a bit. I don't know how this shift in perspective has come about. I think it's because the more time I spend in the blogosphere, the more aware I am that there is any amount of turgid waffling out there; people with genuine stories to tell that they are totally unable to stop telling**. It's all very well using your blog as a platform, but the idea of catharsis is a pretty valid one and lord knows that if I can stop banging on about what a fuckup I am, you can shut up for five minutes about your problems. Let's all just, oh, cheer up a bit, shall we?
Let's make a deal. Next time we think about posting something introspective for the fortieth time, why not just tell knock-knock jokes instead?
Knock knock.....
* Please immediately forget I said this. I may need to vent at some point about how my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs Randall, was a child-hating witch and scarred me emotionally at the age of four, thus rendering me unable to formulate effective same-gender relationships and turning me into the stunted emotional cripple that I am today. Oh, and how I've never liked runner beans but my Mum used to make me eat them anyway. Scarred, I tell you....
** I am generalising wildly at this point, and doing that thing where you project what you hate about yourself onto random strangers, or people that you actually quite like and who make you feel small by externalising their problems rather than obsessing constantly over trivia from their pasts. Please pretend you haven't noticed, and consider me a thoughtless witch instead. It's easier that way.
posted by surly girl at 8:39 pm
12 Comments:
Who's there?
just go pack your stuff and tell us what's bothering you later. we'll be here.
I'm not making that deal with you because I don't know any knock knock jokes.
I did however hear a clean joke from my kids, who always love potty humour. This joke explains something about one of our friends from up North.
From the 100 Acre Wood:
Why is Piglet always so stinky?
Because he's alwasy playing with Pooh!
ha, ha, ok, I'm going.
yup, that's the way Canadians spell always.
I really liked your "How My Mother Ruined My Life" post(s). I say stop worrying about the audience and just write about whatever you feel like. We'll be here whatever.
Oo lord, did that sound menacing? It wasn't meant to.
I never post on my personal stuff, but I'm getting desperate. Two weeks in and I'm scratching for material. I can't just whack in a photo or poem every time I come up dry. I might have to treat passing visitors to a lurid tale or two.
Catharsis is good. But I've decided you're right, not every day. Do some light hearted diary stuff too.
*goes off to follow his own advice*
I liked your mother posts too.
Hey, it's your blog, post whatever the hell you like.
dave the SAF - go for the photos. I do: works a treat. And anyway, you have some beautiful subject matter there and I'd love to see some piccies of where you hang out.
And Michaela too of course.
Here's another that likes your mother posts.
Can't imagine what kind of stress you're under having to pack up an entire house in a week and a half. So really, if you've got no time - I'm sure everyone understands and we'll be patiently waiting.
But seriously, who cares what we think?
Interesting, and I'm not sure I like it.
Here's why:
I feel that your cathartic posts are FASCINATING, and also completely original. I know no one else who has confessed to having parents who lied about which child they created.
Well other than adoptive children and such.
However, I recognize that this is YOUR blog, and you're not sitting around thinking, "Well I wonder what Whinger wants me to post today." Therefore, I will shut up now....
Except this: I love your writing and feel you're talented and don't ever want you to stop. But not in a stalkery way.
Well maybe a little. But there's an ocean between us, so you're okay.
I like hearing about your mother too.
I don't have a knock-knock joke, how about a Dr one...
Dr,dr, I feel like a pair of curtains!
.
.
.
.
Pull yourself together.
Yes, it is the worst joke I know. My favourite joke is about marmite. It's toilet humour.
Turgid waffling is my speciality, I thrive on it.
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