Worst blog posting ever, part 1

The internet is the bailiwick of the idle. You really must have a job you don’t like, or at least one that doesn’t take up much of your time to accomplish whatever they require of you to warrant your paycheck. You must not watch a lot of TV. Or at least you can multitask and surf while viewing. (It’s true that neither TV nor the ‘net takes up much of one’s attention, so it’s not out of the question that those so inclined presumably can “accomplish” both simultaneously.) You are of the opinion it’s of some importance to keep up with news or “news” or gossip, or to find egregiously humiliating video of others’ misfortune. You want to seem intelligent to those around you, or to those other places in the e-enabled world, by passing along what you have figured out (or think you have), denying others the joy of figuring it out for themselves. You’re trying to get people to think you’re hot by putting suggestive photos on your MySpace page.

You are not me. If you have a website or a blog, I assure you I’m not reading it with any regularity. It’s the height of hypocrisy for me to expect others to read my drivel (at least without me beseeching them with reminder e-mails), and as I have no desire to be a hypocrite, I have no such expectation.

I have to get whatever I’m going to get out of posting from the mere act of doing so; the delusion is that doing so helps maintain the friendships with those I don’t see or talk with that often. It doesn’t actually do that, I know, so it’s not a particularly effective delusion. That’s what little I can use to motivate myself to spend time putting thought—some, at least—and effort—some, at least—into composing whatever I can further delude myself into thinking my girlfriend and my brother-in-law will find interesting.

I have to keep it semi-upbeat, because no one wants to read any despondent crap. Your life is bad enough as it is, in one way or another, and you certainly have no interest in reading me vent… unless I make it mildly amusing, with some ironic twist at the end. I understand that’s the tacit arrangement; you bother to give me some of the time you’re on the ‘net, getting away from whatever you should be doing that’s more important but that you don’t feel like doing, and I give you two minutes of distraction (sometimes longer); beyond that, you assuage any guilt you might otherwise impose on yourself when I send you an e-mail reminding you that, hey, if you’re so inclined, there’s stuff here you may not have read yet.

You really shouldn’t bother with feeling guilty, I assure you. It accomplishes nothing. I don’t feel guilty about not reading your website. I’m not proud of it, of course, and it’s not indicative of me not considering it worthwhile; it’s just not something I habitually do. Were I to feel guilty, it wouldn’t alter my habits. It might make me feel bad for a while, and to make some effort to read it for a few days, but eventually (and in not too long) I’d get over it and fall back to what I am accustomed to doing. I think it would be a hideous disservice to you to even pretend otherwise. Where my self-delusional stage ends is when it comes to believing the patterns of how I conduct myself will suddenly be changed—especially if only to placate your ego.

I implore you: Do not alter the patterns of how you conduct yourself to placate my ego. Sincerely I tell you: it isn’t necessary. Do what makes you happy. If reading this every so often grants you any semblance thereof, proceed; if it doesn’t, spend your time in some other way that does. I assure you that’s what subconsciously motivates me.

I don’t enjoy doing this. Some of the time I enjoy having done it. (As one of my professors in college once said, “No one likes writing; people like having written.”) I get my fair share of happiness doing other things. This does not have to be that thing for me. If it’s your thing, splendid. Whatever keeps you from putting a pistol in your mouth or slitting your wrists is what you should keep doing.

Sure, I’ll allude to suicide in a nonchalant manner. I’m not inclined to kill myself, so I have detachment. If you are so inclined, or if you know/knew someone who is/was, that’s unfortunate, but I’m not going to suppress that aspect of myself on the off-chance it offends others. I don’t seek to offend others, but to be offended requires you to take offense, not that you inherently must be offended.

I digress.

This hasn’t been a good distraction, I admit. For that I apologize. There was a reason I titled this as I did. I suppose you didn’t consider that adequate warning, and based on previous entries I concede you weren’t off-base to expect it to be ironic.

Life is full of hard lessons.