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Enough About You, Back to Me.

The only thing I hate more than poems that refer to the act of writing poetry are blogs that refer to the act of blogging. And yet, I find myself forced to engage in that behavior myself. Right now.

I've been very non-bloggy lately for a number of reasons. First, because I have discovered that a lot people that I know in the real world read it. I realize that that's what happens when you put something out into a public space, it's just weird. It's weird to go into a meeting at work and have a co-worker tell me that he read about my Miss Shamrock adventures last year. I'm not saying it's wrong, it's just taking some getting used to. The best way to put it is that it was making me self-conscious. Which leads me to my second point: this blog has no point. Never has, never will. Sometimes it's hard not to feel like an idiot about the fact that I have a whole site dedicated to talking about myself (although it doesn't seem to bother anyone on LiveJournal). So not only was I feeling self-conscious about who might be reading, I was feeling dumb about what they might be reading - namely, a bunch of nonsensical, self-indulgent rants like this one. Lastly, I've been in a funk. Everything annoys me. Really. Name something, I guarantee you it annoys me right now. Yes, even the Internet.

Those three things combined have made me very quiet lately. So, that's it. This was going to be a post about how I'm over all that and I'm back to blogging like a mo-fo and I'm going to be really interesting to boot and maybe it will help my pissy mood to write - but, I don't know. I think I'm on a bad mood hiatus. When the fog lifts, I shall return.

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