passion...schmassion

Day 9987: Blog bog

Perhaps it was out of boredom. Perhaps it started as a method to vent. Perhaps its my natural exhibitionist tendencies shining through. Or perhaps it was just out of curiosity to see who would want to read about my boring, humdrum life, and about my go-nowhere-say-nothing thoughts. Sometimes I wonder why I started this blog. Sometimes I wonder why anyone would want to read this blog.

I’m not particularly eloquent. My prose is not flowery or artistic. My entries, in all honesty, not so interesting. I get to the point… eventually… in the roundabout circular way that my brain works in. I am repetitive.

I’d love to talk about things a little more personal. Dish about something that is more “me,” give you the 411 (as LZ says) on my nearest and dearest, be like so many great bloggers out there, like smitten or sugarmama, and tell you about my love life, the latest party I went to, my favourite things to do in bed or about the wonderful job I have that is so exciting and so full of drama. But fact is fact… nothing happens, my job sucks, my life is day in, day out. And should anything happen apart from the norm (say, for example on Day 9985), it is possible, too, that I may not be ready to share it with the world, and want to keep it for myself. Thus, resulting in boring Day 9986 blog.

Let’s face it. People’s lives are day in, day out. That’s why we’ve resorted to reading about other people's lives, becoming rather voyeuristic in our blurking. We hop from blog to blog, linking, and clicking, looking for whatever happens to catch our eye. Sometimes we like what they write and leave a comment. Sometimes we agree but don't comment, content in knowing that someone else out there agrees with us. And sometimes, too, it's so incredibly boring that we'd rather return to our own humdrum blog reading things that we wrote in blogs past.

So the question remains, why do we blog? Is it a constant cry for attention, a demand that someone out there, perhaps with lives just as humdrum as ours finds ours even remotely interesting? Is it a need for confession, or a need for compassion? Do we look to complete strangers in the anonymity of the www to read our one-sided journals and come to complete agreement with us, thus giving us the approval that we want, but may not be getting from our friends and family. Is it because we have things that we want to shout to the world, but really, if we did, no one would listen and less would even care. I have no idea...

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