It's not rocket surgery.
No siree. But for a chronic lazybones underachiever like yours truly, motivating myself to sit in front of a computer to actually pen down my thoughts in a multi-paragraph barely-coherent essay in a single stretch - Now THAT is a challenge.
Let's get some things clarified. (No, Paula Deen - NOT Butter)
It's not as if I run out of ideas. My brain is, for the lack of a better metaphor, like your typical Best Buy store, or Walmart, on a typical post-Thanksgiving Friday. The door barely holds against the pressing mob of ideas and thoughts, opinions and random trivia. Unlatch the door, and the unruly and unkempt disorganized throng of thoughts rush in, full of energy, and ricochet off the virtual corridors of my mind. At any given moment, I'm unable to concentrate on one task at hand - mainly because my brain is almost always host to a pot-pourri of thoughts - imagine if you will, a basket full of chihuahuas on crack, with a sugar rush, each one vying for attention, some worrying your coattails, some nibbling on your ankles, most others just yapping away.
That, my dear reader, is my brain. Luckily, like everyone else, I have a sort of a selective filter in place, which allows me to conveniently ignore most of them for the most part - but for a short while. Any thought running through my head faces an obstacle course, with the path strewn with random pop culture associations, etymological references, tangential ideas and fragments of obscure song lyrics (It doesn't help that I'm terrible at remembering song lyrics - and I end up thanking to the Omniscient Google for Its aid in resolving my frustrations).
So, trying to compose a blog entry on a regular basis, would be like trying to mow a minefield-studded lawn. It's very difficult for me to stay on a single track, resisting all temptations to move away into myriad thoughts and ideas, some straying so far, it's hard to keep track of where I was originally headed.
(If it's any help, this original entry was supposed to be about why I do not/cannot blog regularly. Here I am, instead, on a roll, going on and on with too many unnecessary metaphors about my thought process.)
So, let's assume for a moment, I have my thoughts organized (Hah!) and am raring to go ahead with my entry. As you've noticed by now, I'm not exactly good at precis writing. Less is NOT more with me. More is probably less. Concise writing is not my forte, and for some godforsaken reason, I have this tendency to be verbose. If it were a medical condition, I suppose it might be referred to, rather appropriately, as verbal diarrhea. Ignore the visual imagery it brings up in your subconscious. Bury it deep. The problem is, unless I make a very conscious effort to stop, I just cannot. Despite all the pop-psychoanalysis and introspection, I cannot figure out why I do this - Is it an overcompensation for my introversion and shyness in real life? Probably. It doesn't matter. Except for the poor reader, who has to bear the brunt of my writing. Beware the poor soul who has to forage through my writing, trying to find some theme or content amidst all the inconsequential nonsense.
(Have I explained yet, why I don't blog often?)
Ah, then there is the big daddy of excuses. An abject lack of motivation. I'm lazy. And worse, apathetic. I'm a chronic underachiever, whose idea of excellent is "good enough". When I started this new blog in July, I promised myself I would make an effort to write often. Hah! Sucker.
Wait. I think I did it. I wrote a complete blog post (and a half) about virtually nothing!
Who says blogging is hard? As long as you have motormouth syndrome, bullshitting comes easy!
No siree. But for a chronic lazybones underachiever like yours truly, motivating myself to sit in front of a computer to actually pen down my thoughts in a multi-paragraph barely-coherent essay in a single stretch - Now THAT is a challenge.
Let's get some things clarified. (No, Paula Deen - NOT Butter)
It's not as if I run out of ideas. My brain is, for the lack of a better metaphor, like your typical Best Buy store, or Walmart, on a typical post-Thanksgiving Friday. The door barely holds against the pressing mob of ideas and thoughts, opinions and random trivia. Unlatch the door, and the unruly and unkempt disorganized throng of thoughts rush in, full of energy, and ricochet off the virtual corridors of my mind. At any given moment, I'm unable to concentrate on one task at hand - mainly because my brain is almost always host to a pot-pourri of thoughts - imagine if you will, a basket full of chihuahuas on crack, with a sugar rush, each one vying for attention, some worrying your coattails, some nibbling on your ankles, most others just yapping away.
That, my dear reader, is my brain. Luckily, like everyone else, I have a sort of a selective filter in place, which allows me to conveniently ignore most of them for the most part - but for a short while. Any thought running through my head faces an obstacle course, with the path strewn with random pop culture associations, etymological references, tangential ideas and fragments of obscure song lyrics (It doesn't help that I'm terrible at remembering song lyrics - and I end up thanking to the Omniscient Google for Its aid in resolving my frustrations).
So, trying to compose a blog entry on a regular basis, would be like trying to mow a minefield-studded lawn. It's very difficult for me to stay on a single track, resisting all temptations to move away into myriad thoughts and ideas, some straying so far, it's hard to keep track of where I was originally headed.
(If it's any help, this original entry was supposed to be about why I do not/cannot blog regularly. Here I am, instead, on a roll, going on and on with too many unnecessary metaphors about my thought process.)
So, let's assume for a moment, I have my thoughts organized (Hah!) and am raring to go ahead with my entry. As you've noticed by now, I'm not exactly good at precis writing. Less is NOT more with me. More is probably less. Concise writing is not my forte, and for some godforsaken reason, I have this tendency to be verbose. If it were a medical condition, I suppose it might be referred to, rather appropriately, as verbal diarrhea. Ignore the visual imagery it brings up in your subconscious. Bury it deep. The problem is, unless I make a very conscious effort to stop, I just cannot. Despite all the pop-psychoanalysis and introspection, I cannot figure out why I do this - Is it an overcompensation for my introversion and shyness in real life? Probably. It doesn't matter. Except for the poor reader, who has to bear the brunt of my writing. Beware the poor soul who has to forage through my writing, trying to find some theme or content amidst all the inconsequential nonsense.
(Have I explained yet, why I don't blog often?)
Ah, then there is the big daddy of excuses. An abject lack of motivation. I'm lazy. And worse, apathetic. I'm a chronic underachiever, whose idea of excellent is "good enough". When I started this new blog in July, I promised myself I would make an effort to write often. Hah! Sucker.
Wait. I think I did it. I wrote a complete blog post (and a half) about virtually nothing!
Who says blogging is hard? As long as you have motormouth syndrome, bullshitting comes easy!
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