Before I begin, let me make myself perfectly clear that I know how silly it is to be starting a blog in 2019. I liken it to forming a disco group in the eighties in that both mediums are well past their prime. Although, disco has seen a resurgence lately (so I am told) and maybe blogging will as well?
Regardless, here I am blogging. In truth, I haven’t a clue what that means or, really, what this is going to be. At the moment, I envision it as some sort of online journal with some random short stories and musings mixed in. My hope though is that it’s therapeutic because my life, as it were, is sort of a mess.
Let’s begin with the fact that I am twenty three years old so some of my ills should sound familiar. I’ve just graduated college and found out that my degree is essentially useless (English). I have a job but I hate it. I am married and that’s going fairly well minus the fact that my wife has only just begun to realize what a basket case I am. I have a house, which is cool and a dog, which is also cool (sometimes). Oh and I have anxiety and depression that is spiraling out of control. Yay.
But, I am trying to get better. I’m meeting with a counselor, I’ve deleted social media and I’m exercising again. However, if we’re being completely honest here, meeting with the counselor feels more like chatting with an extremely agreeable person than anything else. Deleting social media was remarkably easy (you should try it) and exercising is, well exercise so it mostly sucks. I am also doing this more: writing.
If you asked my when I was younger what I wanted to be when I grow up, I would have said an astronaut which is decidedly not a writer. But upon realizing I had neither the intelligence nor the drive to become an astronaut, I knew I needed another answer or else I would be plagued with horribly awkward conversations about my post-grad plans. So, I settled on telling people I wanted to be a writer and, after a few years, I warmed up to the idea.
One English degree later, we are here with a blog, a few poor excuses for short stories and a cutesy little pen name. All I am lacking is, you know, talent, inspiration, passion, desire, essentially all the things I lack in life itself. But I am working on it. That’s what counts.
This is step one. This blog. This whatever this is. Have I a clue what’s going to find it’s way in here? Not a chance. Will anyone read it? Probably not. For now it’s about me and it’s about writing. About how both are complete, and total clusterfucks that will, hopefully be getting better. Ideally both improve but it is quite likely that I learn that I’ll always be bad at writing but in turn become a better person. Likewise, I could vastly improve my writing but remain a troubled degenerate which would then put me in the ranks of other troubled authors like Ernest Hemingway or Edgar Allen Poe. Men who are remembered for their prose and not their untimely deaths. There is something romantic in that, I must admit.
Yet, all of that is subject to change. Just like I am subject to change.
God I hope so.