| May062008 | Drafts |
Gott in Himmel, I have six drafts waiting for me in WordPress. One day I’ll probably get fed up and delete them all. I’m not the kind of boy that keeps drafts around because it encourages a certain level of perfectionism and that is what completely kills my blogging. I want more quantity here and the quality will eventually follow. Practice makes perfect, I’m not trying to win any prizes here.
Amongst the drafts are wonderful topics such as:
- My Top 5 TV Boyfriends (inspired by Tiff)
- I figured out why I’m still single
- I’m doomed to stay single forever
- Everyone hates drivers who break the rules but it’s ok to speed
- What exactly changed your mind about suicide?
- Long distance relationships scare the crap out of me
For all of them, I started writing a few paragraphs and then I lost interest. These are all very worth topics but, uh, I just lost the motivation to write about them. I’m reading more stuff than ever but I’m having trouble just finding the attention span to sit still and write something. I should write blog posts in the morning when I’m still and patient. At work, I am like a toddler being forced to sit still; I writhe and flail my arms and demand to go home and watch Nemo again. Work is boooooooring.

There’s actually a bunch going on in my personal life that I don’t want to blog about. It will probably come out as thinly veiled fictional posts. Because I’m really imaginative like that. Now that I think about it, I much prefer writing the fictional posts as opposed to an accurate account of a real-life event because what I really want to do is capture a feeling rather than tell you what happened. You don’t really care if I had a croissant this morning but maybe you’ll play along if I can conjure up visions of soft flaky pastry and melty butter and French people making snide remarks about my shoes in-between their passionate mid-morning make out sessions. And when they kiss, their cigarettes magically cling to the sides of their mouth so afterwards they stand up, straighten their clothes and continue to carelessly puff away at this tortured existence. Also, it’s very obvious that I have never been to France nor even met a French person. Well ok, my French teacher was actually French and we all laughed when the gym teacher locked him into a classroom.
| More? |
|