Not Really A Blogger



Someone asked me why I have a blog when I hate journaling, posting schedules, sticking to a theme, and maintaining anything resembling consistency.
They had a valid point, I don’t sound the type, do I?
Perhaps it’s because my writing is so conversational, I like feeling like I’m talking to someone other than myself, like it’s more a public statement than a private symptom.

Does that sound silly when I say it out loud?

Or maybe it’s shallower than that, maybe it’s the same reason I have so many forms of social media, maybe it’s because I have a pathological need to feed on attention and exposure.

An emotional exhibitionist playing to an invisible audience,
& the refrain “dance puppet, dance” echoes in my head…

I guess it doesn’t matter why, much like it doesn’t matter that I don’t really understand why you’re still reading, I’m glad that you are.

Grateful for the singular point of connection in a vastness I can’t even really think about without vertigo.

It’s so easy to feel alone,

is that how you wound up here?



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