And then, the dangers of Facebook
Well, the one big one is using my own name and then having Fuck All from high school think I want to read about their kids’ bowel movements as updated at the 5′s, but I got that one covered, sorta, by cleverly not using my real and easily searchable name. But the other one is not wanting to write things of much import…well, more specifically, having an easy way to write about things of little import, and not wanting to spend time on the big ones because it’s a hassle.
That’s why I was able to knock out a few Scribs in the last few weeks: the comic existed at all because I wanted to do some visual humor but didn’t want to be slowed down with the foolishness of drawing something and get straight to the humor. But I got tired of my own programming, as I always do, and then continuing Scribs became yet another exercise in trying to deal with old programs I wrote, and hating them, and then wanting to rewrite them, and hating that. And thus Scribs, like so many other of my questionably bright ideas in the past, fell down the languish hole of my own lack of tenacity.
I don’t even know why you’re reading this. Well, I mean a little bit, sure, I just knocked out those two paragraphs straight in one draft and they were really easy to write, and looking over them again (like I do with nearly everything I create; the number of times I re-read/re-listen/re-view something is directly proportional to how much I impress myself) they’re pretty easy to read, too, so okay I can write some good stuff here and there. Ahh and you know what, the whole “why are you here” schtick is a distraction, because that’s not what I care about. I think the real question is why am I here, because I’ve had a severe lack of creative direction in the last few weeks, as I gave up my World of Warcraft habit and just assumed that the invented sense of accomplishment it was filling in my head would be pulled out, drain-basin-stopper-like, and suddenly the exciting and dynamic rush of my creative mind would just effortlessly flood in, with no more effort than the cost of the gravity to push it down and outward. But as it happens the only things that have happened since are a few Scribs, honing my TF2 sniper huntsman skills, and jumping back and forth from my computer where I try to write some javascript for 30 seconds and then to the window where I stare out for a half hour, dumbfounded, depressed, and utterly sick of trying to program any javascript on a web toy that I am utterly sick of thinking about, yet in some way I need to get working.
ach. Well, hell, let me just quickly post the link that actually brought me to my blog to write something, and I was just going to say that McCotter doesn’t understand his kind of behavior is exactly the sort of thing that makes federal politics such a fucking farce, but as you might imagine I suddenly don’t care a lot.
I just got off the treadmill (which, yay me, ‘cos I’m really becoming a fat bastard and getting sick of myself) so I’m working off some endorphins, which explains my sudden desire to write something combined with my lack of happiness with how I’m managing my life, and it’s highly unusual for those two things to get together at once because the latter one generally makes me want to curl up in a ball and push the world outward. I’m also taking hits off this watery iced latte I didn’t finish from earlier, which is clearly some typing fuel, because oddly I have frequently noticed that I get an immediate effect from caffeine and the rest of the drink generally might as well just be eventual baggies of fat stapled to my gut.
uh, yeah, I’m pushing it now. Anyway I guess the point is, Caroline, wherever you are, it turns out I guess I can finally see the point of your diary after all, ever though we’ve all lived through decades or so of Livejournal &c. were online diaries are commonplace. It was weirder for you since you put some really personal things in there, so I can’t imagine the cyclic feedback, but regardless, I guess sometimes I just have to write something in public when I’d really rather keep it private. Usually at this point I’d fuss over “I’m not looking for a reaction, honest” sort of drivel but screw that, because to be honest I probably don’t actually care what you think about what I’m writing. I just feel like writing it in public for some reason, which is sort of odd looking down the arc of my life, but there it is anyway.
July 29th, 2009 01:50
Faceless, nearly-anonymous, outpouring of all the shit we think we oughtta keep private is our society’s best replacement for actual deep, personal, human interaction with people we /don’t/ feel are obligated to put up with us (i.e. family and close friends). Welcome to American alienation.
You may honestly be able to convince yourself that you’re not looking for a reaction or a response, but on some level, yes, you are. You’re depressed and agitated and want to rant to someone about it because it’s weighing on your mind. But you’re looking for a different reaction than the one you’d get from your wife or mother or coworkers or whoever else happens to inhabit the same locality as you.
All I can offer as consolation is that you’re experience is not unique to humanity and the only way to feel better about anything is to address the problem as constructively as possible. You’re upset about a lack in creativity, then force yourself to be creative. Even if it means you have to do it without a computer in front of you. You’re fat and hate it, then make real changes in diet and keep up exercising. Etc. etc. It’s not quick or easy and it’s rather ironic coming from me, but the sad fact is that’s all that works. But you know that. As do I. Yet we will both keep whining and ranting in whatever format best suits us at the time, to whomever will listen, because sometimes we just need to rant and whine.