I will never get the hang of blogging. Tumblogging, anyway. It’s not that I don’t get it; I just- I fail to apply myself properly to it. It can be done. But I’m not about the- Wait. Lemme take a breathe. I need to submit more original material. I need to take the time for that. After which I need to think about what I’m about and transfer the result to my Tumblog. Everything needs a subject. Especially if it indicates a greater purpose toward some given thing. Technology. Science. Literature. Humor. Whatever you got. You can’t just barf shit out onto the Internet. You can… Thousands do it everyday. More. But there’s nothing precise to anything they offer. After awhile — like immediately — their readers will get bored and jet.
Stay true to yourself. Keep within that niche. Those interested in your mind will stick around for more. That’s what I keep trying to tell myself. And don’t destroy everything you’ve done thus far if you don’t think it adheres to whatever! Struggling to find your voice is part of your story. You’ll get there. If you keep at it. And not force it.
I regret it all the time that I’d gone back and deleted everything up to a certain point, to start over. It all winds up in a similar place, anyway. It’ won’t get to where I want it to be until- Until it does.
Don’t worry about it. And reblogs? They’re good. Stick with what interests you, though. Because ultimately, the subject of your blog is you.
I’m sweating like a pig. I’d written on my Facebook page, last night, that I’d awaken that morning feeling like someone had tried to tear my cranium off from the base of the neck upward. Tender spot, there. On the left-hand side, with pain along the left side of my head across the ear and to the back of my head to the top. There’s a weird rash just under my left ear; I wonder if I’d been bitten by something. Couldn’t turn my head. Went to bed at like 5 p.m. and slept for around four hours, after which I felt somewhat better. This afternoon, I’m in about the same spot. Slept weirdly — which has been the norm, lately — with weird-ass dreams, couldn’t get comfortable. That’s how a neck gets crooked-up. This rash hasn’t gotten better or worse. It’s just sitting there below my ear, itching. On top of that I’m worried about resuming college in January, getting all that shit together. I haven’t been back since June 1990. In many ways, I feel like the same person who’d left campus, then — in spite of the fact that I’m now 45. I feel like I’d bee the odd old man going back. Though I know that there will be plenty of souls older than me in attendance.
Worry breeds more worry, I guess. That’s all it does. Whether it’s for going back to school or some wacky rash on your neck or how to maintain a blog. You just do or shrug it off and go on to the thing that needs doing. Somehow, I’m not wired for simple activity like that. I wonder if I wasn’t born chewing at my fingernails. But I know I wasn’t so worried about everything when I was young. It just happened, one day. Something just snapped apart and there I was, quivering like an autumn leaf about to fall onto the ground. Worrying about something I’m meant to do like that. Worrying about nature.