People stand before their bathroom mirrors, fluorescent lights shimmering dimly over their bloated bodies, and dream of sculpted abs, of broad shoulders and narrow hips. They fantasize about getting into shape, about cutting out the cupcakes and chocolate bars and fudge sundays and all those transfatty death-carbo cakes. Late night fantasies about success, about image, dreams of a better self.
I sit at my little blogging desk, clear it free of pens and pencils, papers and books, and tap my fingers against my chin, eyes unfocused. I dream of a succesful blog, where thousands hang eagerly on my every word, where the slightest of my opinions cause a storm of argument and controversy in my comment threads. Mass linkage from other blogs, guest bloggers when I decide to take breakfast in bed, and thousands of emails choking my account.
Like going to the gym, blogging gets easier and more natural the more you do it. Soon enough, I’m sure, it becomes second nature to type something up. You spend your time imagining what you’ll write next, and spend hours drafting your posts. Spell check them and fact check them and work on developing a ‘voice’. But I ain’t there yet but a long shot. If I weren’t hooked on reading the blogs and livejournals of others, I’d probably forget about mine altogether. Which is a shame! I really like the idea of guestbloggers lining up to take over for me as I recline in bed, trying to decide whether to crack my boiled egg first or indulge in the bacon. My anti-gym bacon, crispy and still spitting from the frying pan.
Far from being an anonymous venue through which to write and post without any concern for the public eye, I think blogs are spaces where people attempt to realize an initially neutral and thus ‘honest’ referendum on how attractive their brains are. Am I interesting? Am I cool? Witty, funny, intellectually sexy? Or am I pretentious, boring, dull, repetitive, superficial and left all alone in my dim and dusty corner of the internet? I blog about blogging, because I wish to be!
Ha! I’m a gonna light up a cigarette, throw back a shot of tequila and hit the gym. Tomorrow.