I know I have a blog now and everything and I even promised myself I’ll write a post every week at least. But I haven’t written one for months now. Something about it gives me so much anxiety. I always picture somebody criticising the hell out of it. And with the number of typos I make you can imagine how horrible I feel about even thinking about writing something.
But even when I do feel like writing and consciously force myself into a state of mind where I give no “you know what” about what anybody thinks, I still end up telling myself it’ll be too much of organising, which I don’t like, and too much of trying to sound like a good writer, which I am not, and only procrastinate the shit out of it every day.
That’s how I got here without posting a thing for the past three months or something. I don’t even remember anymore.
But like when you think about it, or when I thought about it, I realised that the only reason I felt so pressurised is because I keep telling myself my posts have to reach a certain standard to impress somebody. But in reality as I read everything that all of you post I realize that it’s more about connecting than it is about anything else.
I mean, yes eventually there’ll be people landing on my site just to call me out for my lack of a fancy vocabulary and my heart breakingly awful grammar, (and let’s not forget the typos). But right now. Who cares.
I’ll probably be the only one re-reading these things so many times and putting myself down unnecessarily. And if at all others join in the conversation in a negative way, in a hypothetical future, I think that’s the least I should be prepared for.
For what kind of a writer/person/breathing-human-being-with-insecurities am I, if I can’t deal with the imperfections I embody?
Damn. I’ve missed this. Hopefully I do it more often.
I mean, posting.