Tag Archives: self doubt

It’s not a hit, it’s a holiday…

I’m not entirely sure why I can’t seem to keep up with this blog but I can’t. I just cannot seem to muster up the strength to do much anything creative anymore.

*****

It’s been a strange few months. Lots of changes in lots of ways. Finally made it through the winter and now full steam ahead into the burgeoning spring. It seems there’s reason once again to get up in the morning. With temperatures high enough to allow the fresh air to sail through the screen door once more I actually find myself making way to areas of the world that don’t exist solely within the confines of my house.

The bee has a new job and works long, late hours. Because I’m so ridiculously co-dependent that means that my schedule has taken a shift of course as well. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, just a different thing.

You would think this would mean I’d have all that much more time to spend writing and being creative blog-wise but I’ve found myself seeking out joy and solace in catching up on books I’ve always meant to read and leisurely but methodically learning how to play the guitar.

There was a time when I thought I could have been a “good” blogger. Now I know that was just a hazy pipe dream. It’s kind of sad to admit but it’s also OK. Not everyone can be everything they want to be all the time. Still, I continue to hold onto the hope that I can be something someday.

I’ve just started to realize that the sweeping ribbon of emotional rollercoaster highs and lows in my life can actually manage to balance themselves out if given some time and self-determination. After leaving my job in October and going on with life without medication I decided it was probably important for me to document my moods to gain a better understanding of what all this internalized mania means.

I began to keep a journal. A diary, if you will. Entires are sporadic but frequent enough, I hope, to help me in the future when I begin to somersault into the dark unknown as I’m biologically prone to do.

I don’t know what exactly is to become of this blog but this admission of a decided lack of focus and motivation isn’t necessarily a towel thrown down in defeat.

*****

There’s a great song from a great band that keeps playing itself over in my head lately:

No one wants to pay to see her happiness
No one wants to pay to see her day-to-day
And I’m not buying it, either
But I’ll try selling it… anyway

I love the hypocrisy of the lyrics. I live them all the time. I claim to hate the internet; its over-saturation in our culture but I’d be lying if I said I don’t check my phone hourly for email and that I don’t consult the web for practically every question I can’t answer with my own under-utilized mass of grey matter.

I tell myself that I should desert blogland, just do it, find some other way to feed my ego that isn’t so self-indulgent but then who would hear my furious cries for attention?!

I find myself thinking about how much I need it especially while absent from it. There’s a lot of uninspired twaddle plastered on the internet; this post only failingly aspires to be something more. Even still my lack of enthusiasm for my own creativity is just pure laziness. Doing nothing is almost always easier than doing something.

And my writer’s block? It don’t mean shit. I just need to throw it against the wall and see what sticks…

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Fears

After leaving my job a few months ago I thought I would begin a new chapter in my life by filling my days with some much-needed relaxation and allowing myself the time to re-focus creatively and personally.

Instead I’ve been most successful at giving myself an endless array of shit for not being more artistically productive or inspired on a daily basis which makes for what I believe to be some pretty serious irony:

Fear #1

I will never be successful. At anything.

Much like my numerous failed attempts to learn to the guitar/piano/drums beyond plucking strings, poking keys, or banging on cymbals, I cannot seem to move past the point of frustration at figuring out new things which might allow me to find peace in being creative and possibly, somewhere down the line, entrepreneurial:

Fear #2

I will never finish anything that I start.

When I recently mentioned to the bee that I thought I might like to work in a library, he reminded me that most library work is on a volunteer-only basis:

Fear #3

Any and all discernible life-skills I have are at once impractical and completely useless when trying to support yourself financially.

Perhaps it’s because I stopped taking my  meds or the fact that I’ve been unemployed for a while that’s causing a momentous level of despair to creep into my life.

Either way, it seems my ability to differentiate between a justifiable cause for fear or worry against something which is completely fabricated by my damaged brain has never been worse.

But… at least I’m taking it all in stride:

Yep. Totally under control.

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I’m *back*?

The only thing I’ve been able to write in the last month and a half seems to be in the form of lists. Grocery lists, holiday shopping lists, lists for thank-you cards that needed to be sent out a month ago. Those sort of lists. I also wrote this list so that’s something too.

I guess.

Then I started to think that was a part of my problem. I was using list-making as a crutch and couldn’t get creative unless I just stopped making them. So THEN I think to myself: “What is the OPPOSITE of making lists? I KNOW! A photo montage of my cat depicting the events that have unfolded since I last wrote here!”

And here it is:

Things were blurry at first…

Actually it was like that for a WHILE

So I thought I should look for guidance from the great wise window…

But I didn’t really like what it had to say so I got outta there…

And decided maybe it was best if I just sat back and relaxed for a bit instead…

Even still, It was undeniable that I was a bit blue…

So I looked toward the fire for comfort…

But I soon tired of that, so I took a nap…

After so much sleeping, I had become paranoid so I thought it best to hide…

But then I felt guilty so I chose to ease my mind by getting some work done…

Until THEY showed up…

Which only served to make me MORE paranoid. So it was back into the box for me…

And then, before I knew it… It was CHRISTMAS! I love Christmas. Very tasty…

All was well until I realized that Christmas isn’t all about joy and the deliciousness of tiny fake trees. Sometimes it’s just humiliating…

I guess it’s true what they say about nothing being easy…

and I’ve still got a helluva long way to go.

HAPPY CAT-YEAR ERREYBODY!

See you soon?

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I Can’t Write. Right Now.

I think about things to write about and then I think about them again.

Eventually I over-think it all until my thoughts and ideas and plans for written creativity are nothing more than over-processed pulp lying uncomfortably under the magnifying glass of my ever scrutinizing eye.

I like to write. I do. Better yet: I want to like to write. For a while now it’s felt less like fun and more like this is some daunting task that I must complete. I will near episodes of total breakdown before I finish a post and after I’ve poured my heart and soul (and usually countless hours) into it I just feel exhausted and doubtful that it was even worth all my tireless efforts.

I blame this on my being OCD. By the time Wednesday (because for whatever reason, the crazy in my head tells me that if I’m only going to post once a week then it’s got to be on Wednesday. Uh huh. Yeah…) each week rolls around I start the mental melt-down process where I panic about what I’m going to write. It almost always starts to come together; usually at the last-minute, but it gets done, nonetheless.

When I was working I needed this outlet to quell the mania that was sure to rise were I not to find some outlet to plug it into. My job was a vehicle for my unhappiness and in efforts to avoid a crash course for total self-destruction I would find solace in the written word. It wasn’t any easier really, probably a lot less so, but when I had something accomplished on my blog then I felt, at the very least, well – accomplished.

Nowadays, just being on the internet gives me a case of the howling fantods and I look for excuses to do anything else: Toilets need a-cleanin’! Who’s for a round of scoopin’ kitty litter?

The internet has lost its charm for me. At least for now. Don’t get me wrong; when it comes to the people of the internet I don’t have a problem. In fact, I love a lot of the internet folk I’ve come across in the short amount of time I’ve been active in this “blogger” function. It’s what the internet does to people (myself so totally included) that I don’t like.

Facebook and Twitter and Flickr! Oh – No.

Since I’ve had some time away from an office cubicle I find myself having more time to do the things that I never had time for in the past: going for walks, reading books, spending time with people (in real life!), cleaning more often than every other month, organizing my life (that’s the OCD again) and more than what the tasks are, it’s about the fact that it genuinely makes me happy doing them.

I feel like all this might sound a lot more dramatic than intended. I also feel like this is sounding more like a note to myself than to anyone else but I suppose it just is what it is.

I don’t really know what this whole declaration means other than I’m stepping back for a while. Indefinitely? I don’t know. The holidays are approaching and I must say that I anxiously await them, more so than I have in a long time.

To put it simply: life’s priorities have changed for me. My focus has shifted elsewhere for now and I’m just looking forward to a new adventure.

Wherever it takes me.

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On Books And Their Covers

The other day a friend of mine sent me a text saying she had been reading my blog and enjoying it. She mentioned, in particular, the post I did recently which featured my passport photo taken in highschool. Since she attended the same trip the photo was taken for she remarked that it reminded her of when we first became good friends, which made me smile.

Then she said that before we were friends she always thought that I thought I was “too cool for school”. This also made me smile, just not for the same reason.

I told her that I was pretty sure she was right about that. The more I thought about it the more I started to understand the purpose behind my chilly exterior of long ago. Then I realized that I probably still carried around that same demeanor depending on the situation which meant I couldn’t really blame it on the foolishness of youth.

***

When I started my freshman year of highschool I had absolutely no friends. ZERO. I went from a public junior high where I had my safe little group of like-minded comrades to a Catholic prep school where 90% of the kids got a brand new car on their 17th birthday and where I had to muster up all the strength within me not to self-destruct when my mom would pick me up in her white ’89 Ford Bronco ala O.J. Simpson.

I was going through a very rebellious stage of my life. Within the year I had gone from being an only child, to a full-time sister/babysitter. My close-knit circle of friends and extracurricular activities became distant memories of a life that I once knew but had a hard time grasping onto now. I went from being a comfortable and somewhat well-adjusted youth to a melancholy shadow of my former self, thrust into a world of the torturous unknown.

I spent the first few months of school avoiding people, which meant steering clear of the cafeteria altogether. Instead I opted to spend lunch and any and all free periods I had in the library. Alone. In a corner. Reading something, ANYthing so as not to die of embarrassment for being the lamest of all the lame loser’s in all the land. I was embarrassed at how badly my life had spun out of control and there was very little in the way of safety or familiarity in anything to give me comfort.

I ended up becoming friends with a girl who I had spent most of junior high despising. I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual though neither of us ever had the nerve to bring that up. We found solace in our outsider status and chose instead of being miserable alone to do it as a team. Together we smoked & drank and convinced ourselves that it was everyone ELSE who had the problem. That THEY were missing out for not knowing how cool WE were.

At the end of my freshman year, I was really no better off than I had been at the beginning. The one friend I made, moved away at the end of the school year when her dad got transferred. In retrospect it was the best thing that could have happened. Ours was the Paris Hilton/Nicole Richie (circa 2003) of friendships; less about being good friends than not wanting to admit how alone and desperate we would appear without the other.

The summer before sophomore year I turned over a new leaf.  I decided it was much less important to be aloof and unreachable and decided to make these changes on both the inside and out. I bleached my hair as blonde as it would let me and chose not to concern myself with the prospect of having or NOT having friends. This new attitude suited me very well and it didn’t take long before those who barely acknowledged my existence prior, started to actually pay me mind.

Although my outlook on life (and hair) had brightened a bit I really wasn’t any different from the person I had been before. I still refused to buy into the typical highschool bullshit; kissing the asses of some and snubbing others just because. It didn’t feel right and I knew my new-found “popularity” (in quotes because I was really by no means popular, just less wildly unpopular than I had been before) had little to do with anything but outward appearances so I continued to tread warily around those I hadn’t fully sussed out.

There is no doubt, due to this type of behavior, that I might have come across as a little rough around the edges initially. In fact, another friend of mine confided that before we became friends how she thought I looked as though I had “throwing knives for eyes” when we would pass each other in the hallway. Not entirely sure I know what that means but I’m thinking it’s not good. My personae became my bullet proof glass and the only way I knew to protect myself from the firing range of viciousness and cruelty that was a highschool hallway. Or gymnasium. Or cafeteria. Or parking lot.

Nowhere was safe.

***

I still feel like that.

A lot.

Not as much as I did as an angst-ridden teen but most days I still find it hard to locate a place where I “fit”. I’m a homebody for good reason: it’s safe there. Home offers me comfort and solitude and it’s filled to the brim with the things that I love. Nothing at home makes baseless judgements about me or ridicules me behind my back for the way I talk or dress or think. My home welcomes me back inside everyday even when I leave it behind for hours or days at a time.

Home is the one place where I can put away the pretense, the mask, the look of indifference and just be me and whole again.

Whoever that is.

It’s not anyone’s fault but my own that I’ve been categorized as a bitch or mean or a loner at one time or another. There is a time and a place where all those monikers ring true. I’d like to think of myself as multi-faceted but if I do that probably means some of those facets are going to be less than desirable. Those who had the nerve to tell me how they perceived me are my friends for a reason. They saw a glimmering crack in my exterior and instead of kicking me aside they chipped away to find something unexpected, something they liked.

To those who did, I thank  you. I’d REALLY be a friendless loser if you hadn’t.

And to those who still read this blog despite the questionable content and lapses in comedic judgement, I thank you too.

Y’all are awesome and A-OK

in my book.

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I went to BlogHer and all I got was…

a(n all TOO) close encounter with irritable bowel syndrome, an inflated inferiority complex and my period.

Before I get into the moment by moment break down of my conference experience I think I should first preface this post by saying any and all general negativity derived cannot really be blamed on any one or thing other than myself.

This experience taught me, if nothing else, that I am not a particularly good social networker, either on or offline and although I think I might possibly one day be an a’ight blogger, I will never be anything close to an “elite” persona because it’s just. not. me.

I am pretty sure my perspective of the conference was different from that of most attendees. I didn’t stay at the hotel or attend any of the keynotes or parties. 

Because of this?

I’m pretty sure I missed out on a large chunk of the experience. Again, nobody’s fault but my own. From the beginning I wasn’t really interested in attending parties or the immersing myself in the overwhelming social aspect of this event.

In retrospect, I guess that was my first mistake since so much of BlogHer is about hobnobbing and gettin’ down during off-hours.

*sigh*

Let’s do this shall we?

I start Friday morning off fairly well. I get up, have my coffee, get dressed and I’m actually out the door ahead of schedule!

We-ow!

My main goal is to attend all the available sessions so I can gain as much how-to-be a better blogger tids and bits as logistically possible.

There is a welcome breakfast followed by something called “Speed Dating, BlogHer-style” that I’m not all that keen on making it to NYC in time for. Knowing what I know now, my lack of interest in activities such as these should have probably been an early sign to me that I wasn’t going to get as much from this conference as countless others BUT I’m stubborn, so on we go…

Everything is going according to plan, I’m in the car driving up the turnpike, listening to a little Rilo Kiley for inspiration and good vibes when ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL of a sudden… my innards start shouting Mayday! and I have nary a floatation device at hand.

If you know what I’m saying…

I’m talking this is the WORST and I do mean The. Worst. stomach pains I’ve ever had so far away from a toilet in-my-entire-life. I don’t have much recourse here but to take deep breaths and pray to a god I’m not so sure gives a shit about my GI problems.

The severe pains persist all the way through the Lincoln Tunnel up into Manhattan.

Have I mentioned that at this point I have fallen a bit off course and I’m now stuck in traffic on a street I shouldn’t have turned down in the first place?

Because I am.

So I get to the Hilton with some time to spare and I ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun to the bathroom where next to nothing happens. That’s right. Next to nothing. Let’s leave it at that. So whatever, I’m still on schedule and I didn’t crap my pants.

The first session is O.K. Kind of vague and over-generalized and initiate my feelings of inferiority in this particular atmosphere.  It’s at this point where I first start to fear that: I do not belong.

Lunch feels like something out of the first day of highschool; shuffling my way into a large room cautiously glancing about for the sight of a familiar, or at least non-hostile, face.

I begin to feel as I often do when stressed and unsure: not hungry.

After lunch, or as I had – half of a 1/5 of a sandwich and 2 pieces of watermelon, I skip outside to partake in an activity often used as a crutch, security blanket or just plain god-awful but for whatever reason, unavoidable, addiction: smoking. I’m not proud to say that I still use cigarettes as a social tool but I never said I was perfect. Anyway, thank GOD for smoking because that’s where I start to feel the natural ease of fraternization return.

I often use the term organic when referring to situations that unfold in a natural, unforced way. I hate being fake or feeling fake or pressured to “perform” in order to adapt myself to large social settings.  I’m not in the business of getting people to like me under false pretense. I am who I am and unfortunately (for me) that means I’m not all that marketable, at least not to those who aren’t willing to break through my crunchy exterior and the find the warm and gooey mess that lurks beneath my crackly shell.

Try not to take that last part too literally…

I did meet one person who seemed up to the challenge of my (apparently) prickly personality though I doubt I made a huge splash with most of the other folks at the conference. I’ve always been that person who is often pigeonholed as snobby or aloof when really I just hate small talk. Is that SO wrong?

Ugh. It is isn’t it?

So, instead of fitting in or making friends right off the bat, I usually come off as a strange awkward alien or I just make unintentional enemies. The honest to god truth is that of the (very few) people I am still friends with since my childhood I can’t think of a single one who upon first knowing me who just did NOT like me. Then again, I am a shitty friend so, I guess I fooled THEM!

foolish, FOOLISH, sucka...

So day one is over and I leave feeling at least a little better now that I had found ONE person who seemed to not want to flee in terror from my presence. I get seriously lost on my way back to the Lincoln Tunnel due to my having absolutely NO sense of direction (thanks, Dad!). I finally make it home, just a lot later than I should have.

Day two’s drive is EXPONENTIALLY better than day one, with no almost-exploding-bowel-syndrome or inconvenient slow-motion tours down 7th Ave.

On a Friday.

During rush hour.

Because that was fun.

I meet up with my new friend for a smoke before the first sessions of the day and already feel better than I did the day before.

*objects in this picture are not as close as they seem. (i'm pretty sure my camera was on 20x zoom or, as I like to call it, super-stealth-stalk-mode a.k.a. i'm way too embarrassing to actually go up to her and ask for a real picture so this will have to do)

I attend the session with Jenny the Bloggess, mainly because I think she’s cute and hilarious and a complete and total inspiration to me as both a blogger and a humorist and she proves to be all that and more. She is probably even more cute and funny in person even though I never thought it humanly possible or particularly fair to the rest of us. There are numerous times she has the crowd lol-ing in their seats and at one point I’m thinking someone might misconstrue the literal SCREAMS of laughter for screams of slaughter.

Apparently no one else was all that concerned…

As far as day two of the conference, this is the highlight of my day. Aside from lunch, that is. The rest of the sessions leave me feeling *kind of* depressed. I begin to feel more and more out of my element as the day wears on and being that it’s the bee’s birthday my mind is most definitely elsewhere.

I swear that in writing about this experience it was not my goal to bad-mouth or bash BlogHer. It just wasn’t really the right fit for ME. Had I been a bit more immersed in “the scene” or been a mom, or more of a business oriented woman of tomorrow, it may have been more impactful. In a good way. Instead I just felt like I didn’t belong. It wasn’t until Saturday afternoon that I discovered this thing called “Birds of a Feather” where you sign up on a list to sit with/meet like-minded bloggers.

Had I known about this sooner, I probably would have exchanged a lot more business cards…

All in all it was a learning experience and I did walk away with a lot more knowledge than I had to begin with but more than anything I learned that I just don’t belong with the BlogHer crowd. In a few years time? Perhaps. I think I would benefit from a smaller blogging offline network, one where I wouldn’t feel like SUCH a small fish in an all-encompassing ocean of internet experience and clique-ish-ness.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh yeah. I went there…

I want to wrap this up by saying that in almost every way BlogHer lived up to the expectations I set around it before I ever set foot in the Hilton. I knew it would be clique-y and miles above my head technically and professionally. The problem that I had was BlogHer didn’t exceed my expectations, which I had so hoped it would and probably all of us hope will happen no matter what situation we’re thrown into.

And, yet again, whose fault is this?

***please point fingers in direction of computer screen***

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probably, definitely not worth it…

Perhaps you noticed that there was no new “Bee-ject’s” post this past weekend?

Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, not. 

Either way, the-bee-weekly-reject-picture-posts are being put on an indefinite hiatus.

Now, before you turn into an inconsolable bleary eyed rage-ball that throws their hard drive through the window screaming “WHY INNERNETS, WHY?!!!“, this (possibly permanent) loss doesn’t mean that the bee won’t continue to document his daily picture-taking project on his blog (even though he’s been like SERIOUSLY lax with posting regularly. again, i implore you to go visit his site and leave him a strongly worded comment in ALL CAPS so maybe, just maybe, he snaps out of it).

ANYWAY…

Life is complicated and busy and I can relate to not being able to meet every single self-imposed deadline no matter how much I might want to. I’m still anticipating the stress and doubtless crippling social-anxiety that will afflict me at next week’s BlogHer conference, but I’m doing my best to take things in stride. Due to that, posting will likely be light for the next week or so while I gather the strength/attempt to re-wire my nerves so that I might function like a “normal” human being in a massive social-networking group jam session.

Or whatever…

In my last BlogHer freak-out post I mentioned my lack of excitement over the prospect of designing a business card for the BlogHer ’10 event. However, it appeared to be a necessary evil so I sucked it up and did it. Here’s what I came up with:

I’m sharing this with you now because maybe you’re not going to BlogHer and you’re just really interested in how I pretend to be successful and “grown-uppy” (not sure how grown-up vomiting cats are but, whatevs). Even if you are going and we actually do end up meeting at the conference, I’m not entirely sure I’m going to have the guts to hand these out. I guess this is due, once again, to my persistent lack of self-esteem and the shitty school of thought that repeatedly pokes me in the brain saying “What makes you think anyone cares about YOUR stupid blog, huh?!” which, clearly, isn’t doing me any favors.

An area of self-deprecation that I am, no doubt, deserved of is being a hopelessy hopeless loser-faced procrastinator. Although procrastination tends to serve me well since I tend to thrive under the pressure of last minute-ness it RARELY helps me out in the frugality department.

Take these business cards for instance…

I found a reasonably priced outlet to create the card, uploaded my own design, bing-bang-boom, move on to check-out only to find that the cards would likely arrive AFTER the conference.

Shit.

Thankfully they had an expedited option which promised delivery within 3 business days! Too bad the cards were now going to cost me DOUBLE what the original quote was.

Now, had I just ordered them a week earlier I could have saved myself a good heap of cash. So, by early next week, I should have in my possession 250 custom business cards that likely won’t get much more action than getting carelessly jammed into my bag and if they’re lucky they’ll spend some time between my two front teeth in lieu of a more common pesky food eradication device.

Which makes me think the expedited shipping was probably, definitely not worth it.

It’s also hotter than a sub-Saharan monkey’s butthole (and no, i have no idea what this means, if it’s true or even geographically possible. i just like the way it sounds) up in here and even Stinky is feeling the heat.

His desire to be as close to me as humanly possible at all times seems to be outweighed by his need to maintain a healthy body temperature so his innards don’t start to liquefy which means he’s been alternating sitting on my lap and sitting on the floor inches from my desk chair all morning.

and that's not to say what his super-furry heat-conducting-ultra-lap-warming-self is doing for my already sweaty nether-bits. TMI?

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I B Freakin’

A few months ago I wrote about how I was still on the fence about going to BlogHer ’10. Long story short, I spent so much time straddling that damn thing that I missed my chance completely. Early bird registration came and went and then so did all the regular priced tickets. I figured it just wasn’t meant to be and even though I signed myself up for their waiting list I was secretly happy that I wouldn’t have to shell out a few hundo for the event.

As more time passed I started to think maybe my saving myself the money hadn’t been worth all that I would miss at the conference. As much as I’d like to envision myself as a Dooce or a Bloggess in 10 years time, I don’t know the first thing about blogging for bucks or even blogging all that well, so if I ever wanted to chase that dream, this was my chance.

As they often do, the fates aligned and I got my chance at BlogHer redemption. Reading through blogs (as I am wont to do during the work day) I came across a post that Mayopie wrote, offering up his 2-day conference pass that he no longer needed. Maybe BlogHer ’10 WAS meant to be after all! After a few days of back and forth emails the pass was mine and I was one step closer to world domination.

Given all that…

Can somebody please tell me why the reality of all this makes me want to upchuck my lunch?!

BlogHer is about 3 weeks away but already I feel like I’m going to be my normal awkward, anti-social self who will wish she could turn around and go home the minute she steps into the Hilton/find the darkest loneliest corner to hide in until it’s all over and OH GOD! What if somebody tries to talk to me?! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhh! but, Oh NO! What if NOBODY talks to me?!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh…

How big of a mistake have I made by signing on for this thing?

I just read through the BlogHer ’10 “Checklist” of things to bring and things to do in preparation and let me tell you, it’s not making me feel any more relaxed. Especially the part about bringing a “Business card with your blog’s URL and/or Twitter handle”.

BUSINESS CARD?!

Why didn’t I think of this sooner?

Ugh.

I read a post that Schmutzie wrote on tips to consider when creating your business card which was actually quite informative but I’m at an impasse: what the hell kind logo do I create for my card when I can’t even decide what kind of blog it is that I have here?

Am I a personal blogger?

Yeah, kind of. I talk about my life to an extent but I don’t really get into grittier topics for good reason (Hi there, Mom! Dad! Gramm!) and I do hold a lot back that I would most definitely share if I were slightly more anonymous. I’ve got some killer stories that will forever stay on the shelf because some of the people involved actually read this blog and I’m not in the business of hurting anyone’s feelings or alienating the few friends I have left.

Am I a humor blogger?

Eh… maybe. SOMETIMES. Though I think some of my funniest stuff is often times unintentional.

Good thing? Bad thing? You tell me…

Am I a photo blogger?

On occasion. I like to take pictures and all but are there people out there that DON’T? Doesn’t that kind of make everyone a photographer? That’s a lot of competition, yo. How the hell do you make yourself stand out with that?!

I dunno. Maybe I’m over-analyzing all this and intensifying the negative (that is what I do best, after all) but in the year or so since I started blogging, I have not found a way to appropriately “brand” myself. Maybe it’s because I hate labels and trying to fit things into neat little compartmentalized categories even though I will still try to do it because of my own obsessive need for order.

Have I mentioned that being me is AWESOME?

The more I read about successful bloggers the more I hear that one of the biggest pieces to completing that puzzle is to find your unique niche or brand so you will stand apart from the rest. But what if you can’t? Does that determine imminent failure from the start?

I’d really love to hear some feedback on this subject. Are YOU going to BlogHer this year? Have you ever attended a BlogHer or like-minded conference? Are my biggest fears irrational at best or am I totally in the right for freaking the fuck out over this thing?

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Cry Me a River, Justin Timberlake…

Well, it’s shaping up to be a regular BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH week for blogging. Although I had intended on making another Lenny & Lloyd comic for this week’s post, my wrist started giving me trouble which then led to a loss of sensation in part of my hand which resulted in a diagnosis of CTS from my doctor. So now I’m splinted up and having some difficulty just typing.

I know, I know. Boo to the Hoo.

Hey! You know what I haven’t complained about it awhile?

WORK.

And guess what?

It still BLOWS.

Things are bad everywhere and corporate America is no exception.

When you are the low whoa-man on the totem pole at a place like the one I work for, the only place to go is OUT. As in look elsewhere for employment because the job you’ve got now probably won’t even exist in a few years and lord knows you’re deluded if you think a promotion is even a possibility in your future.

Because it’s not.

They may feed you a decent helping of bullshit to keep you “hanging in there” but the truth is there’s nothing better for you down the line. Sure, they want you to think that there is, because they don’t want to lose the work horses they have while there’s still work to be done.

Maybe you’ve been working there for 20 years. Well don’t think just because you spent the better part of your lifetime slaving away for some soul-eating giant that they’re gonna give a shit about you when the lay-off fairy comes a callin’.

There’s risk involved with any job: corporate, non-profit, independent, etc… but there’s a big difference between faltering due to your own mis-steps as opposed to getting shit-canned because some 6-figure making asshole decides that the best way to save his horribly mis-managed company is by making you redundant.

I’m not trying to say one is worse than the other, because being out of work is the same no matter how you slice it, but I know that I’d rather be the one responsible for my career failures as opposed to some big-wig in a leather chair sending me a pink-slip via our company’s intranet.

***

This afternoon I have an inter-departmental meeting to attend.

Kill me. NOW.

What makes this meeting unlike the others I typically attend is that it’s like HOURS long (2 1/2 to be exact) and it’s mandatory, which leads me to believe that some shit may be or is currently on its way to hitting the proverbial fan. The sorry thing is that I’m kind of hoping for “bad news”.

This is how much I hate what I do: I’d rather face a lay-off at a time when I have no other means of income or another job in the pipeline than continue working where I do.

You might be thinking: What the fuck is WRONG with you?! Why don’t you just look for another job, asshole?

Well, I guess where I’m at now is that I have looked and I don’t want just another job. If my only options for future employment are based around the work experience I already have acquired (customer service, retail sales, copy center employee) I think I’d rather live out of a cardboard box in my parent’s flooded basement.

No, REALLY.

Which only leaves me with one option: I need to take a risk.

I’ve never been good with the prospect of risk-taking. I have low self-esteem and because of it I usually talk myself out of things before I even get the chance to fail. Not to say I’ve not had my fair share of failure, because if falling down in a room full of semi-professional dancers, literally YEARS after you’ve last set foot in a dance studio, during an audition to become a cast member on a Disney Cruise ship isn’t failure well then I-DON’T-KNOW-WHAT-IS.

But seriously folks, it’s GO time. Now or never. Gotta make this happen or fall prey to the vicious corporate machine which will inevitably spit me out more bitter and jaded than I am already.

***

I may have labeled myself as “lazy” in the past but that’s not entirely true.

More like a half-truth.

I can be lazy. I REVEL in laziness from time to time because, DAMMIT, it feels good to do nothing sometimes. However, when crunch time comes around and I’m down to the wire, I can always count on myself to get the job done. Whatever it is.

In short, I’m a highly successful procrastinator.  Some of my best work has been done just moments before it was due.

At least in my opinion…

Which is why I am sort of hoping you’ll help me in wishing for “the worst” for me today at this meeting. Keep your candles burning that some bad news for the department will be delivered which will leave me out of a job here and FORCED to take a much-needed mother-effing-risk in my life.

Otherwise, I fear I will sit complacent in front of this keyboard that has given me little more than a crippled wrist for another 3 years or so just because it’s paying the bills.

For now.

***

In other-news-about-things-I-actually-accomplished-this-week-that-don’t-include-complaining, I acted as guest photographer on the bee’s blog yesterday while he was down with the sickness.

So, scoot your boot on over there and check it out.

Mormon hugs & three-toed sloth open mouth kisses to you all!

Oh, and just so this post isn’t TOTALLY random:

UPDATE:

It’s now after the meeting and I’m still totally employed.

BUMMER…

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This post is about slutty monkeys. Not really. Well… kind of.

I tried.

I really, really tried to think of a good topic for today’s post.

Alas, I have nothing much to speak of so here goes…

nothing.

Often when I can’t think of anything to write I think of the act of blogging in itself. Then I start to feel kind of weird. You see, blogging for me started as a way to reconnect with my creative self after years and years of self-imposed oppression. This blog started as a bit of a diary, a bitch & moan fest where I could unleash all my negativity so I wasn’t taking it home and dumping it on the bee. Instead of crying at my desk during lunch, I would spend my hour writing or reading other blogs, getting laughs and inspiration. I really have nothing but good things to say about this whole endeavor.

Except that I wouldn’t be (me) if I didn’t have a healthy dose of complaint to add to the sauce…

So here’s the thing:

Blogging can become an addiction. It typically starts slow and gradual where at first you are just SO excited to post things that it doesn’t really matter if anyone knows or cares or even reads it. You enjoy the way blogging makes you feel.

Free! Powerful! In Control!

It’s a magical time and then, one day, you get a comment…

No, not one from your mom or your best friend, but a comment from a total stranger. A person who doesn’t know you but for SOME unknown reason likes you.

This is exciting! You feel even more empowered because now you have a follower. Someone to hang on your every word who throws you a thumbs up when you’re finished with all your ranting & raving.

Initially this is awesome. Most people like to be liked and admired. 

However…

With this exposure comes a great burden: expectations. Expectations put upon yourself BY yourself and the new expectations of your reader(s). All of this creates a great deal of stress and self-doubt. Two things, which are basically crippling to one’s sense of self-worth and creative mojo.

What follows this initial descent into madness (because you might not know it yet, but that’s totally what’s happening) is the realization that your follower(s) will, likely, at SOME point, drift away from you, perhaps forever, leaving you an empty, hollow, shell of your former self.

Your already minute and withered level of self-esteem begins to plummet rapidly to an even lower low than even you thought imaginable.

You think you suck.

You think people hate you.

You feel alone and betrayed.

And that, my friends, is when you start to get ANGRY.

You start going through your blogroll and removing people who don’t have you on theirs. You start a silent protest of blogs that no matter how many times you leave a comment they just will NOT comment back. You believe yourself to be a one woman army of destruction and pride yourself on how much your actions matter (they don’t).

The swift decline of your mental state due to reduced blog traffic/commenting does not bode well for the rest of your web-life either.

You may take to Facebook and begin un-friending those who simply REFUSE to acknowledge you for all your incomparable brilliance.

Who needs ’em, RIGHT?!

You begin regressing to a childlike state of jealously and rage anytime you read a blog that has more comments than yours (which is basically ALL. OF. THEM.) and now only read blogs so you can compare yourself to others which ultimately ends with this inner monologue:

What the FUCK?! My blog is WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY better than such-and-such (no it’s not) how come so-and-so gets all the glory?! That’s it! I’m finished! Screw Innernet! Screw Blogland! If they can’t appreciate me for all my FANTASTACULARITY then I’ll take it somewhere (no such place) where somebody will!

And so on, and so forth…

One major thing that I have neglected to mention is the nagging obligation you have to yourself to employ wholly immodest levels of desperation during this time.

Falling to your knees in desperation and screaming towards the heavens that your blog is the best is key to regaining your sanity and finding your humble nature once more. Becoming desperate can often work in your favor but it most definitely comes with a price.

You see, those who buy into your desperation for love and accolades usually do so out of pity or out of sheer want to quiet your needy yammering once and for all. Others, those who have something called DIGNITY, will often ignore your pleas for attention and instead will write you off as a hack and a wackjob and the chances of you ever regaining their respect are slim to none.

The realization of all this should wake you from your delusions and provide you with a newfound strength to create new, better, fresher content so that those who may have ignored your cries initially will only kick themselves later for not “knowing you when”.

Oh yeah, and so you can regain your own sense of pride.

Something like that…

OR

You could take my approach and continue to bottom feed and pimp yourself out to any ho that will have your pitiful ass.

Oh, and never stop creating tasteless masterpieces via your PC’s crappy Paint program:

 

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd, you’re welcome…

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