Yes. It’s been a while. There is plenty to discuss, I’m sure. However, I can’t really think of anything significant to write about. Well. That’s not entirely true, I can think of plenty to write about, but very little to blog about. As soon as the idea of blogging comes around, I feel obligated to write about things other people care about. And that makes sense – because nobody reads blogs that aren’t about anything. If I had to decide right here and now what my blog was about, my first answer is that it’s about me. So why should you care about me? Not really sure. If you look at my tags, I whine a lot about college, writing, and long distance relationships. Those are primarily what my life is about right now. I guess you could say my blog is about a college girl who writes about a long distance relationship?
God, that sounds like a boring blog.
Since I don’t feel like talking about college, let’s talk about writing.
For my senior seminar project (whoops. I guess I’m talking about college), I’m doing a creative project. It will be a creative nonfiction piece, which is a fancy way for saying I’m going to write a fancy journal entry and edit it over and over until it’s no longer recognizable as word barf. That’s basically what I do. Call it egotistical or self-indulgent and I’ll probably agree with you. When prompted for a legitimate explanation of what I do, I’ll say that I really love the idea of turning my life into art.
That’s true, I suppose. What I’d love to do is to be brutally honest with myself. Life is messy, and it’s something I’ve always sort of struggled with. When i was young, I didn’t like a guy unless I wrote it down. Even though I journaled constantly, there were certain things I wasn’t willing to admit even in my journal. That might have been because my mother had a habit of reading my journal, then confronting me about all the bad parts. Then a whole shame spiral started and it was just a mess. But I think that’s why I’ve always felt a distinct amount of distance in my writing – I’m aware that there’s somebody looking over my shoulder.
That’s an odd thing to be afraid of when you’re driven to write personal essays.