~ an unedited speech from my dictaphone, 17.7.16 ~
I never really know what to say at the moment on the internet, mostly because every time I load the Blogger front page I see the stats, or I get on to the actual writing page and I look, and I stare, but it just feels horrible and I don't know what to say.
But I do know what I want to proclaim to the world and it's all running around in my head but I don't know how to express it in a way maybe I would one year ago today. And that absolutely disgusts me. I'm disgusted in myself for letting something that could have become so magical slide, for letting something that could have been my career end up as a hobby that you shove on your CV one day to make it look like you've got something better to say.
Like, I say I'm a blogger, but I truly don't think I am. I'd say I'm a blogg-ah, like the AH emphasis kind of people who are like 'oh ma god I blog all the time!?!?!!!' when in reality they do absolutely nothing. The kind of people who are total dicks about themselves and the industry. And this is the kind of thing I write down in a journal of mine, hidden away in Microsoft Office where words come so freely; yet the second I try and import it into a blog post, everything just goes belly up and I feel absolutely horrible.
I feel like a failure today. I feel like I can't even say what I'm saying now without the knowledge that it doesn't have to go online if I really don't want it to. I feel my words aren't articulate enough anymore; I feel like I'm writing as if I am retaking GCSE English, in a place where I have to make my words sound more grown up than I really am.
I feel like a fifteen year old again.
And the only thing that stops me feeling like this is listening to stupid soundtracks, of films that hold special meaning. This in itself is a weird combination, bearing in mind that four years ago I probably couldn't even have named ten films that existed in my universe. Yet as I listen to the soft tones of the Joy soundtrack playing behind me, I feel something pouring throughout my veins into free speech, as I record this on a dictaphone. All because I'm too scared to write it on a bright orange Blogger.com page.
Maybe blogging isn't for me. Today I found out my url had expired and I hadn't even noticed, and I've also found out some other things about blogging in the past week that have put me off creativity forever- but then I spent five pounds on a magazine the other day, dedicating itself to the written art of online creators. And it cost me five pounds. Who the hell pays five pounds for a magazine!? But I did. And it was rather fabulous.
There must be something inside me that wants to blog, I just can't seem to find the way to, this feeling just can't find its way out.
So I'm going to leave it here, my unfiltered ramble about my personal experiences (or lack of experience) on the blogging industry.
~~ I'd like to tell my mum that I'm not weird enough to talk to myself alone in my bedroom for seven consecutive minutes yet, I was talking to the internet. ~~
this is part of a 100 day blog post marathon (day 2)