Is my life really this dull? A couple of one-line postings about a trip to the cirque du soleil, various recountings of dreams (and – really – is there anything more tedious than a complete stranger recounting their unconscious fantasies? Especially when those fantasies seem to revolve around 50 year old kidnappers singing dancers), pointless conversations with a man who’s paid to spend time with me (did I mention Hookers in that post), and then silence…
Makes me wonder: Why did I begin blogging? Because I started reading other people’s blogs, and their lives were so cool and eventful and filled with great stuff, and I wanted that? Is that why? Maybe.
Because, in the run-up to one of the single most important days in my life, I wanted a way to get my shit together, to try to make sense of where I’d come from, and where I was going to? There was that, too. A great deal of that, to be honest.
As a way of recording that wonderful wedding day, and the heady summer days leading up to, and following on from it? At the time, most definitely; I really hadn’t considered what I’d do when life got quiet and there was less to talk about.
Because, despite my culture-snobbery, I wanted to be part of the ‘look ma, I’m famous’ generation that was spawned in 1992’s “MTV’s The Real Life,” suckled in the early “Big Brother’s,” and “Wife Swaps,” and has come to maturity with an entire schedule of T.V. shows, magazines, newspaper columns, and, yes, blogs, filled with normal people – the sort who’d once have been referred to as boringly normal people – flinging open the doors to their normal boring lives, allowing, as the genre has developed, the editors to edit out much of what makes them boring and normal, so that everyone is, nowadays, a freak. A famous Freak. A “Look Ma, I’m Famous” famous freak.
Did I want to be Kerry Katona Crazy in Love? Was that it? And if I did, and I’d bothered to set up a counter, would I be destroyed to discover that nobody ever comes here? That, after all, I’m not famous, or very widely read, but that I am, in fact, whistling into the wind, some latter-day Lear’s Fool, but with less funny jokes (and if you’ve ever been obliged to read some of Lear’s Fool’s jokes, you’ll know how bad that is!)