Blogging is like running a marathon in the dark

Wow, I honestly have no idea how to keep going with the blog. Before I began writing it, it seemed relatively easy to imagine writing every day. My plan was (and still is) to write about everyday things; for example, to write everything I could think of about the bowl of hippie puff cereal that I had eaten the previous day. I would put one day of distance between myself and the breakfast, so that there was no problem of writing-as-it-happens recursion (this is also in my first entry, I think. Another one of my rules was not to look back). It would be natural to worry about either boring yourself, or boring your readers. But in the past few days I’ve discovered that the danger isn’t particularly boring yourself, but rather feeling melancholy about the kinds of things that fill your days. If you’re an academic living a ripple-free existence in California, then the whole nature of your life is choosing entertainment for yourself. Of course it’s entirely possible (and very common) to take the work of writing about art so seriously that your face wrinkles up, but since for most people this is weekend material, it’s hard not to feel that you’re living out a strange fugue of weekends without celebration. (By the way, Happy New Year! Gathering with a few friends tonight. Trying to decide whether to drink champagne.) Of course, the other problem is that, in the course of blogging, one wants to write something useful about problems bigger than one’s own life. Or at least I do, since I am way over on the left, where even the Greens start to fade into the impalpable grey hopes of some sort of mass revolution. But I’m not certain that that would be the right kind of blog for me, since I do the heavily monitored and quality controlled stuff when I write papers and teach classes. And anyway, Wonkette is really awful (and somehow kissing cousins to Maureen Dowd), and the best thing about blogs is that they are part of a revolution that happens in many places all at once, quietly, along with people refusing to purchase things, and making their own art with cheap recording studios / laptops or with cheap digital cameras or with cheap video cameras. A small, bristling accumulation of changes that at any given point looks (awfully) like self-absorption. I was reading one of the music websites that have sprouted up along with the thousands of blogs, perhaps cokemachineglow, and it said that “literate self-absorption” was the new overwhelming trend in indie rock. Well, some kind of disconnection has to precede the return to society, and the challenge that accompanies that return, no? If people aren’t willing to go fasting in the desert, and I really don’t think they should, then maybe the self-absorbed culture of blogging and albums like Chutes Too Narrow can jump in the breach. Ok, that’s enough for now, but tomorrow I’m writing about the average everyday stuff that happened. No more metawritiing about blogging for me; I’m declaring an end to growing-pains-entries like this. That can be my New Year’s Resolution. Also, undoubtedly, this is going to get more shocking with time, once I realize that nobody’s reading, and even if they are, that I started this damn thing in order to write cuss words in sentence form.

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