Surprise, Monday post! Mini celebration time. I now have 10 actual random strangers following the blog regularly, and if you’re reading this as someone I actually know, yes, their opinions mean more to me than yours does.
These past five months I’ve grown to really enjoy writing, despite how much I go on about what a burden it is. While my posts are more akin to the extended Facebook status’ of a teenager than they are the works of Hemingway, I find it extremely cathartic. I’ve always been able to communicate better in written form. Verbally, my brain moves too quickly for my mouth, and by the time I’ve gotten to the end of a sentence I’ve generally forgotten what I was trying to say. This sometimes happens mid-word and it can take me four attempts to spit something out. I have a verbal reset that involves sticking out my tongue and biting at the air while making noises like a toddler (I have no idea what kind of image that gives you, but it’s the only way I can think to describe it). It’s not attractive but it gets the job done.
I also like that writing gives people the option of whether or not they want to listen to me. I am incredibly narcissistic. I have very little capacity for empathy. I’m not massively chatty, but when I do talk, unless you’re interested in the Clodagh Show, I am borderline impossible to have a conversation with. I will twist anything back to something about me or my interests. Writing lets me go on about me without inflicting it on someone who mightn’t necessarily care, but is too polite to say anything. Plus then I don’t have to actually talk to anyone, bonus.
Knowing my waffle is entertaining/interesting enough to CHOOSE to come back to is incredibly validating. Like, more validating than Instagram followers. Probably doesn’t help the narcissism though.
I shall endeavour to stay in my angsty teen phase for many years to come. For the good of the blog.