I occasionally go through these fits where I write constantly. Those are easy to identify because there will be two or sometimes even three postings on a given day. Scarier still is the fact that I often have even more stuff that I've written that I don't post. Like some kind of over-board junkie though, I go through those phases and then it becomes more difficult to write for a few days. Such as been the case lately, as I've not been as motivated to pound away at the keys. Not a good idea.
Why? Do I feel some compulsion to grace the world with my musings? Do I actually take what I do here THAT Seriously? Hell, am I even that good at this anyway?
The above are perfectly reasonable questions, and as luck would have it I have perfectly reasonable answers.
The "why" question is pretty easy to answer. In some bizarre way I feel like a power-lifter trapped in Woody Allen's body, like a dancer reincarnated in the body of someone with two left feet, like Eric Clapton with his hands chopped off. I have the heart for expression, but not necessarily the equipment to pull it off. No bother though, as this has never been about being good at writing, observing or sharing thoughts. Like a good American, this is about me. More specifically, the act of writing this nonsense helps me sort out my own thoughts on the topics that are on my own mind. The act of expressing myself in this "public square" enforces a kind of righteous discipline that compels me to actually think about that I am thinking about. It helps to create order out of sheer chaos. Yes, despite what you may think, the mostly disorganized grabastic pieces of amphibian sh*t I write here actually have a 1000 times the clarity of the actual thoughts running through my head at any given time.
This is, in a very real sense, a kind of therapy. That's why I feel the compulsion I suppose.
Now I think this blog has about 559 postings. I also have approximately 61 pages of material from MySpace and Yahoo 360. I also have notebooks full of stuff. The point? I guess it's that this doesn't represent a recent development in my life. Hell, I've always been writing nonsense in one form or another. It's just now the technology and my intestinal fortitude have both evolved to the point where it can take this form.
That's the "why" & the public compulsion part. Now on to the other questions.
Q: Do I take what I do THAT seriously?
A: Yes and no. Yes in the sense that I seriously enjoy writing (although I would enjoy not making quite so many typos). No in the sense that I don't have any illusions about how meaningful it is to anyone outside of me. You know what? That's okay. One of the true strokes of genius I have had in my life centers around the notion that I don't have to care what other people think...I don't let others define me...I define me. I bought this ticket, I get to ride this ride. Damn, if I only could have figured that out in high school.
Q: Am I even good at this anyway?
A: Honestly I don't think it matters. What does matter is that I enjoy this, and in life if you can find one or two things you can enjoy that...
1. Aren't illegal or immoral
2. Aren't known carcinogens
...then I think they are probably worth doing.
On a final note, ladies and gentlemen, Mr David Gates: