I Hate Blogging

I hate blogging. Today is supposed to be some kind of creative writing, but to hell with that. To hell with blogging. This is supposed to be making me a better writer?

"The Artist's Way" program says to write 3 pages every morning. Of anything. No matter how bad, nonsensical, incorrect, etc. I can't do it. I don't believe I even have writer's block. I can get over it on my own, thanks, Julia Cameron. I don't need anyone else's methods or tricks; I have my own: blogging.

Well, blogging daily is stupid. Some days (more like most days), I don't have anything interesting to say. My life isn't all that interesting; the only person who reads this is probably just my mom. Like I couldn't just drive over and talk to her in person.

But blogging daily isn't just about having readers. It's about becoming a better writer, reflecting on my own life and growth as a person, having a reason to make my life interesting, and actually following through with something. Every. Single. Day. I hate blogging because it's inconvenient and has no direct benefits. But every once in awhile, someone clicks and ad and I get a little closer to reaching the $100 of AdSense revenue I need to finally get my first paycheck from Google. Oh, the things I could buy with that first check. (Like this Melodica I'll probably end up buying after I get my scholarship money, even though I should be patient and just beg for it for Christmas.)

And, though I would rather not admit it in my current I-hate-blogging state, blogging daily pressures me into continuing to write and reflect and grow even when it gets gross and uncomfortable. A few minutes before starting this post, I flung myself on my kitchen floor and mourned my tragic life, (Caused, of course, by my car: the never ending stream of broken headlights, tail lights going out, check engine turning light on, gas vanishing, and no money to pay for any of it.) hoping I might just fall asleep right there and wake up to find things better. The thought of sleep was the happiest thought I had at the moment, and then it hit me: I needed to write up the blog post for Saturday morning. Crap.

I should be sleeping right now. Lying somewhere, crying myself to sleep over my actually pretty easy life. But instead, I'm smiling as I finish up a blog post I didn't want to write.

I hate blogging because it forces me to face reality: that my life is really great and I have no reason to complain. Why can't I have a miserable life so I can complain? Stupid blogging, making me think. Making me WRITE.

Watch out, NaNoWriMo, I'm going to be more than ready for you this year. I love blogging.

England, Zubetube, and Other Spontaneity

And then, after I was so excited about Dance Hour, I didn't have time. Two days in a row. It's been a hectic two days in a row. Full of lots of not very much.

I jest, of course. I woke up Saturday with this strange urge to be important. I threw on the flashiest clothes I had (literally the flashiest; my shirt was covered in sequins. Yeeeaaah.), put on some make-up (hard to believe, I know), and topped it off with new shoes. Nose in the air, I walked to a yard sale near my house, looked at the items with disdain, and walked away, muttering about "Community Outreach." I'm sure everyone there was QUITE impressed with my apparent fame, fortune, and sheer importance. And British accent too, of course.

That, of course, was not enough. I grabbed my phone, called a few friends (they never answer their phones, bastards!), and eventually reached my friend Frank. "Okay, so I know this sounds weird, but I want to walk around and pretend to be famous." I was met with the expected amusement, but he agreed to fake importance with me, and we ended up wandering the outdoor mall/Old Town in our (not so) little Los Angeles suburb, British accents and everything.

Funniest. Day. Ever. We had full-on characters. I was quite the famous figure in England apparently, and Frank was apparently a rather uninformed underwear model. My publicist sent me to America and instructed me to act like a common person, the nerve! "The English have the right of way in America!" I exclaimed once, crossing the street and yelling about the terrible driving in this country.

And then we wandered into the music store. (Yeah, that one that's underground! It's awesome.) Frank the underwear model, apparently, knew nothing of music, and Elizabeth the super rich and famous knew everything and had done everything.

And then we found, wait for it . . . the ZUBETUBE!!! Coolest instrument EVER. "The ultimate cosmic sound machine." No kidding. After debating about totally how awesome it would be for our "space album" (more to come on that later!), we asked the price (under $15!), decided to split the cost, and bought the coolest instrument ever. I think I'll just have to do an entire post on the ZubeTube soon. It's amazing.

After that, I didn't get home until the AM, just running around, acting silly (boy do I have stories too!), and then I spent today doing all sorts of mundane things like copying CD after CD first onto the computer and then onto my phone. Check out the band Simply Red. Old 80s band; I just found their CD and decided I love them.

Even without Dance Hour, I managed to dance around a whole lot this weekend, from tap dancing to street musicians, to ridiculous dance offs, to jumping around the kitchen with my little brother.