I Hate Writing on My Blog

I use to ask myself would anyone care about the work I was doing? A question which has slowly evolved into docare about the work I am doing? It makes no difference if no one else cares about my writing or creative dreams, but if I do care it changes everything. If I do care than it is a thing worth doing. 

So, I set this blog up when I created my website for a University assignment. I thought the expense of paying for a professional looking website with a blog attached might help my career. I thought I’d practice my writing skills, maybe gain a few faith readers, and perhaps even a job offer could float along. But none of these things have happened. Because, well – I hate writing on my blog. Anytime a thought along the lines of ‘maybe I should I write on my blog’, I quickly stomp it down with the don’t be ridiculous lecture of a stern parent. Write on this blog? Don’t be absurd! Due to this unhealthy (and perhaps even insane) mental discussion, any motivation to create a post for this blog has long been lost and the website remains depressingly neglected. 

To be perfectly honest, I’m embarrassed I even have a blog. I mean, what is lamer than having a blog? Having a blog that no one reads. Nobody even gives a shit about this blog – not even me. Quite pathetic really. But, I’m beginning to take pity on it. Perhaps this unlovable orphan presents an opportunity to me. This blog is like my little secret. I can write whatever I damn well please. I can treat this blog like a void. An empty, lifeless void in which I shout my ideas and thoughts into. There’s a strange freedom in not giving a damn. No expectations from loyal readers to produce the same old content they know and love. No pressure that I could destroy a career with one dumb joke or comment. There is nothing to destroy in the first place. No career or extensive body of impressive works. Just endless opportunity. 

So, I’m committing to this blog. At least two posts a week must be uploaded onto the blog. Quality will be sacrificed for quantity, just like everything else in this capitalist nightmare (rant on capitalism will most likely feature as a future post). And I will lean into the fact that no living (or deceased) soul gives a rat’s arse about what I write about. The content matter and medium types will most likely swing more erratically than your drunk uncle’s mood. A terrible poem will sit comfortably alongside an unimaginative story about a talking bruise. But as the old saying goes ‘when no one gives a shit, life creates another blog’ or whatever that expression is… 

Happy Snaps

When I take pics on my Iphone they are often a blurry mess, an uninspiring sunset or a selfie. They are different to the images captured by my DSLR or a Polaroid camera – less intentional. I just wildly snap and hope I’ve got something that vaguely captures the moment. I’m so desperate to try document my life like most millennials and Gen Z’s. “Pics or it didn’t happen” often rings in my ears as I reach for my iphone.  It’s embarrassingly tragic, but I feel the urge to prove I’m living some sort of exciting existence by posting these snaps online. 

I like to occasionally flick through my photo library and let the images trigger memories and stories. I’ve picked a few which resonate with me. More often than not, it’s the story behind the image that is more intriguing than the actual composition and colours. These photos are important to me because of what they represent (lame, I know).

I’ve tried to summarise these stories and emotions in fifty words or less.

I locked the car keys in the boot of Siena’s car. We waited for road assist and were grateful for the kindness of strangers. Afterwards, we celebrated with a smoke in the nearby park . Back to old habits – following one dumb decision with another.
The After Party for the opening night of MIFF 2018. Somehow, I snagged myself an invite. I greedily lapped up the free alcohol and industry ambiance. Ivana and I boogied to Janelle, and maybe one day I will feel like I belong here.
Left my wallet in an Uber. It eventually turned up at the Craigieburn Police station.
Can you describe the contents?
A Canberran ID, a debit card and a degrading cigarette. All one needs.
My friends decided to turn the wallet retrieval into a road trip.
KFC and good tunes.
Wandering the streets of Fitzroy, going from 21st to 21st. Drinking expensive cocktails which were covered by the generoustabs.
The infamous LUSHSUX artwork on the wall felt like the perfect backdrop for insta post. I added a stream of conscious caption, so you know. People would think I’m ‘deep’.  
I was walking around the neighbourhood stalking
looking for this cat I like. The roses were in full bloom and the light was doing that thing where it beautifully bounces off the soft petals and hard concrete. I took this shot feeling incredibly smug and artistic
content and grounded.