So how exactly did I get here? Well let's see... it was sometime back in December when I started off at major work drama central, right next door to the local idea pool (running dry), took a right at holiday party excess, past the interesction of January funk and horrendous VISA bill and now... here I am. Blocked and my feet hurt.
But I can't help but feel it's a little bit bigger than just writer's block, almost like a larger existential blogging crisis if you will. What am I doing here? Why am I writing this? And who do I want to read it? (or not as the case may be)
Like when I talk about what I'm doing, what I'm feeling, taking pictures (ok that's a lie I never post my own), what's private and what's public anymore? The line gets a bit blurred.
I mean just like other bloggers I'm sure, I will admit there is a teensy thrilling freedom in putting your life on display on the blogosphere to total strangers. But the thing is, most of my readers know me. They're my friends. I know it's late at night but humour me: it's almost like this verbal exhibitionism has turned on its head into some sort of voyeurism, and I'm the one being watched. Question is, what do I want to show?
Case in point: Last Sunday I joined a global improv stunt called No Pants Subway Ride. The premise as you can tell is both stupid and simple: get together in a mass rally and ride the subway pantless. Is this for any noble cause you ask? Nope. Charity of some kind? Guess again. Sheer stupid fun? Third time's a charm!
Anyway, I had a post written up about it and everything (side note: I boarded the wrong train and ended up as the only pantless person on there. Hilarity ensued), but then on impulse I erased the whole thing.
Well, I've thought long and hard about this whole situation, and I've come to this great conclusion: I'll tell you about my ride, but I ain't gonna show you my behind. Catch my drift? I think it's fair.
Now exiting the blogging-free zone.
And on that note, welcome back RocM. I've missed you.
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