Dearest Loyal Readers,

For the past few weeks, I've been pretty whiny and irresponsible. I've been moody and lazy and feel like most of my posts have just been me rambling on about stupid things. And it's not just my blog. I've missed classes, not done homework, laid around a lot, and gotten others to do stuff for me because I couldn't be bothered. In other words, I've sucked. Admitting how much I've sucked these past few weeks is hard; I'm fighting the urge to delete this with every word.

My sucky self would like you to know that this is only because my body is sore and stiff and I have no decent way around any more. It wants you to know that this isn't how I "usually" am, that I'm "normally" a much better person, truly incredible and all.

But my sucky self makes a lot of excuses and doesn't do anything to change. I'm not a fan of my sucky self. On the surface, it's a lot easier to be my sucky self, but it always ends up being miserable. And misery leads to suckiness.

So I've decided I want to be more, be better. I'm swearing right here, up on the internet for the whole world to see, that I am going to man up and deal with the stupid "problem" I've turned into my excuse. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment, save up money, buy lights for my bike, and get used to biking around my hilly hometown in the meantime. My parents can't afford to get another car, and our insurance company is so bogged down that it'll likely be months before we see a penny, so it's on me to pay. So what if my lack-of-car is, by law, 0% my fault? It's not my parents' fault either.

Loyal readers, I promise you that I'm taking ownership of my actions over the past few weeks and I'm going to do something about me. I can't possibly think I deserve the right to lead or influence anyone when I cannot lead my own self. Please hold me to my words; I'm going to take care of myself and stop letting stupid excuses stop me from doing the things I must.

Thank God it's Friday. Only one class today, a long-needed a visit with a good friend, and then free time to write the 10-page paper due in less than a week that I haven't even started researching. And I'll set up my doctor's appointment.

Epileptic Dwarf

Last week was great. I was way up high on the blogging rollercoaster, overlooking miles and miles of endless worlds. I was so excited, I got all my posts for the whole week done Tuesday. It was an easy week. I just sat back and watched as my blog views went up on their own.

And then the views started going down. Like they always do on the weekends. And I tried to get some blogs for the week written ahead of time, but nothing came out. Nothing sounded good. I was too demoralised from the weekend lows. So now it's almost 11PM Monday night, I'm exhausted, sick, hungry, and wanting nothing more than to just sleep right now. But I have to blog. So I go catch up on webcomics.

I'm thinking I should switch to doing comics. Make jokes and draw kitties? Boy am I in the wrong "profession"! And then, of course, it occurs to me that I'm not that funny and every cat I draw ends up looking like an epileptic dwarf with a crack problem. Comics are too much work. So I gaze through my inbox.

There's a message from a writer. I need to write him back, but I've forced myself to blog first. It gives me time to get past the giddy excitement and respond reasonably and calmly. But if this writer's book is as good as the first page, and if he can put some blind faith in me, Ironic Sea Serpent Books is going to start turning into a real publishing company soon. As if all my dreams weren't already coming true enough.

I guess I have no reason to be so demoralised whenever my blog views are lower than I'd like. Even this post, no matter how stupid this is, is going to be read at least 20 times. TWENTY TIMES! I can't even believe that. And it'll probably get more like 30-40, since it's a Tuesday post. And it's just me rambling pessimistically.

I'm ashamed of not being happy 24/7. Blog views is such a stupid thing to complain about. And it makes me so mad at myself that I have to force myself through the pity party until I reach the end and realise that, hey, my life is pretty good. So good, that I'm starting to feel like I can't even dream fast enough any more.

New dream: start a webcomic about an epileptic dwarf with a crack problem.

P. S. Thanks for reading my blog, even when I'm demoralised, moody, and unappreciative. Every time someone views my blog, I feel a little more ready to conquer the world.

P. P. S. I just looked at my comments, and I saw that I had two new comments today, both of which made me smile. Why are you guys so wonderful? Thanks. I'll keep blogging.

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.