On Blogging

Blogging is strange. I have yet to figure out how I feel about it. Along with the company of forty year old gamers, middle schoolers with angst, and mothers who need places to put pictures of their kids, there are several attractive features to blogging. Mostly, I like knowing that my work is out there, even though I’m not totally sure where my writing is actually out to.  Since it’s not molding on my desk next to empty mugs and cereal boxes, though, it’s probably an improvement.

            The main downside is that I now feel some sort of obligation to write. What would my adoring fan base do without their daily dose of my witty input? I have responsibilities now, even if those responsibilities are to my parents and the couple of reluctant friends who were stupid enough to leave their computers alone long enough for me to bookmark this page.

It’s a lot of pressure being so famous. What if I don’t have anything to say one day or if I don’t feel like being funny? Can I possibly continue to work under these stressful conditions?

            There’s also the matter of my little obsession. When I posted this blog, I managed to convince myself that my fantasies of becoming an Internet phenomenon are probably unfounded. But unfortunately, blogger makes it all too easy to check ones’ stats. So every twenty minutes or so, I check my phone, check my email, then check my blog: “What’s this? Three people have viewed my blog today? I’m famous! I wonder who they were. Has my aunt finally figured out how to open Internet Explorer or was it just people accidentally clicked on the links I spammed all over their Facebook newsfeeds?” My recent Google searches, after ‘sneezing panda,’ include ‘how to promote your blog’ and ‘how to handle incredible fame.’

            Which brings me to another point. There are some people who do brilliantly with praise. They can accept it looking genuinely interested and not the least bit uncomfortable talking about how great they are, while still managing to look humble instead of conceited. I am not one of those people. Far from it. I really love it when people tell I’m good at something, but I have absolutely no idea how to respond. While instinctively, I would like to sit back and bask in the warm glow of my inflated ego, I get the feeling that’s not the best way to make friends. So instead, I stammer thank you a million times, laugh as if I just inhaled a helium balloon, and quickly change the subject. Obviously, I was built for the public sphere.

            Despite the extraordinary proportions of my struggles, I’ve been enjoying myself and will most likely continue to foist my thoughts onto the unsuspecting cyberworld. Prepare yourselves.