"Regret is a wasted motion"
A few days ago a friend asked me why I haven't been blogging as much as of late. Part of the reason is that, well, my life is pretty fucking boring as of late. I could relate my daily activities, which would probably go something like this:
"This morning I woke up at 7AM, took a piss, got some water and went back to sleep for another 4 hours. Then I woke up, made "breakfast", read the paper, took a shower, watched 3 hours of Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares, starting drinking at 4PM, watched the same episode of Top Gear for the 4th time, dropped a deuce, applied to a few jobs I won't get a response to, then jerked off, etc, etc."
Exciting shit, I know. There is yet another reason though for my lack of blogging quantity. After my friend asked me the earlier question, she had mentioned that her BF reads my blog. This surprised me, and made me think about the fact that the vast majority of my friends my read my blog.
Not that it matters. In fact, I feel almost flattered that my friends regularly tune in to read what's going on in "Justin's world". Then again, this knowledge almost makes me hesitant to the extent that feel I have to censor myself so as not to offend certain constituencies.
I'd never write something that I don't mean, but then again it's all about context, and it's all too easy to take certain things the wrong way. No one has ever called my on any supposed bullshit, but I still have that little editor in the back of my head that says "Hey! Great idea! Just don't write about it unless you want to piss people close to you off!".
When I first started writing int his forum I had no such qualms. But over time it just made sense to acknowledge the existence of this blog. For example, when I went to New York City last year it probably seemed strange to my Father that I had a handful of friends to hang out with (i.e. blogger friends).
Not that I admitted the existence of this blog to my Father (dear Gawd no!) but it made sense to explain to my friends that I met several other bloggers. From there it just snowballed and one friend would tell another, then another and so on. I don't regret it, nor does it bother me. But it has altered what I write and how.
Instead of thinking of this as a bad thing, I've almost come to embrace it, to the extent that I sometimes place certain "in-jokes" within my prose (whoa! that sounds pretentious as hell!). Still, in some instances, the knowledge of my audience almost hinders my writing.
In time, I hope to bridge the gap; until then, please bare with me...