A really adorable thing computers sometimes do is stop working properly. This comes in handy when one works online and needs to be able to answer emails and send large files at a moment’s notice. (I’m dealing with this problem mostly by taking long, angst-ridden baths and playing four-hour games of M/F/K.) Anyway, below is a blog post I wrote up a few days ago in the middle of a restless night, and while it’s even moodier and pointlesser in the light of day, here it is anyway. Feel no obligation to agree with any part of it or attempt to rationalize with my half-asleep self; this is purely for entertainment.

* * *

There’re a number of reasons why I probably shouldn’t be blogging right now. One being that my laptop smells like fire and is currently moving at the pace of… something agonizingly slow (the simile-maker in my brain is on snooze mode; it’s 2AM), and since it’s too rainy and dark for me to go outside in the evenings, any minor annoyance like a slow computer can make me furious and restless. And finally, I shouldn’t be blogging right now because everything I have to say tonight is immature and whiny. But when has that stopped me before? Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk about.

I don’t like only publishing posts about sitting around eating cookie dough, feeling moody for no reason, changing my opinions and views so drastically that they aren’t at all in line with what originally endeared me to someone. I feel responsibility to be a consistent voice that the fifteen-year-old version of myself would have needed to hear when all I really feel like being is a sloppy pig. I can’t be freely imperfect when my words represent some idea beyond myself, but I can’t be some noncontroversial figure of perfection, either, because I’m just a little bit too sucky.

There are times when I feel blogger’s adrenaline building up like dandruff flakes in my brain, and I want so badly to purge the story of my weekend or big mistake into cyberspace, complete with dumb analogies and links to only-sort-of-relevant sites. I’ve even started drafts of posts, started in on what I’ve had to say, and then backspaced backspaced backspaced, seeing the faces and names of different people who would be disappointed/triggered/upset by my words, all of them boggled around in my head. I can’t tell you how I tried this thing or met this person or made an ass out of myself in this way, because it’s easy to feel that you serve as so many different symbols to so many different people even though, realistically, no one cares.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…it’s hard to be loved and respected and wanted? I don’t mean to come off as a whiny brat. I’m extraordinarily grateful for the connections I’ve formed with people, whether full-blown friendships or just tiny meaningful moments. But with impact comes pressure I feel like a fizzy, shaken Coke can.

My three options are to either stop writing personal posts and just use this blog for businessy type stuff (ew, gross, please don’t even dignify that option with consideration), to say whatever I want regardless of whether everybody who ever liked me before changes their minds, or just…stop altogether? I would sort of rather vomit all over myself than give up again, but I also can’t pretend to talk about my life while leaving every single interesting detail out just because everyone I went to high school with and my extended family and my parents’ friends have access to it.

* * *

And that’s when Google Chrome shut down and I yelled agitatedly and went to sleep. I suppose I still agree with my sentiments from the other night, but again, it seems much less important while the sun is up.

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