Blogging and such that it is. What I really think

Share the joy

You know what?  I have this lovely friend, a freaking little ripper of a friend and she is the only person In Real Life that tells me nice things about my blog, mostly when we’re drunk but that’s neither here nor there.  She tells me I am a fab writer, that she LOOKS forward to reading my posts, that I don’t look like a dick when I get my kid to take outfit pictures.  She is truly a priceless gem.  Every blogger needs a friend like mine, for every one of those lonely months posts without comments, for all of those afternoons spent ignoring your kids while you tap, tap away and curse yourself because you FORGOT THE META TAGS!!

And all of the above may be true, I could be a good blogger when I grow up but how can you tell?  What’s the worth in one meaningless post about a Shi Tzu compared to another?  I don’t know the answer to that or why we even consume blogs in which people talk about Shi Tzu’s but there is no denying that this shit {see what I did there?} is here to stay and blogging is now a valued and valuable media in which a mummy blogger actually has a worth.  Not necessarily a monetary worth, though there are some very famous bloggers who make a living from actually telling the world that some days it’s just about too much trouble to roll over in the morning.  Truth is addictive, and actually being able to intimately view, follow, judge, and covet someone else’s truth is definitely worth something to all of us that have an RSS reader with numbers in the triple digits.

I worry about how frivolous this may seem to people, especially people I know, or once knew but let’s put things in perspective.  This post will maybe take me half an hour to write.  In this time I have created something, written something I can be proud of, or at the very least written some words and phrases cohesively which in some way utilises my college education.  I have not sat on the couch and played video games or watched 2 hours of mind numbing crappy Sunday night TV which I turned on as soon as Ethan went to bed so I could turn my brain off.  Writing is not wasting my time.  It is narcissistic to a degree, but this is my scrapbooking/quilt-making/sewing thingee.  This is my creative space.  You may not be able to snuggle under my blog while you sit on the couch and watch your crappy telly, but the intangibility of my creativity is not insignificant when compared to your granny square blanket.  I can crochet granny squares too, I just have a problem with finishing them.

My blog makes me happy.  Writing makes me happy.  Taking photos of EVERYTHING makes me happy.  Sometimes there is just fluff, but other times there are words being written that bloggers work hard on and agonise over.  There are truths being told every second that shock and hurt and humanise strangers in a way that other media is simply unable to convey.

I am a blogger and here is my new favourite nail polish.

{See how fluff and truth work perfectly together?}