But blogging isn't about the audience. It's not even about the post. It's about the writer who has long since been searching for a place of expression. Twitter is never enough, if you've seen the threads floating around. A picture may say a thousand words, but to a writer? It's not even close to being enough.
So, in my crusade, I am taking blogging back. For me. For my mental health. For my overall well-being.
Why?You might ask (the one person who stumbled upon this post and has nothing better to do).
The answer isn't simple. I wish it was. It wouldn't merit a blog post if I could have explained myself in a picture or a 280 character tweet.
Let's go back to April 20, 2018. I woke up. Normal. Checked my phone. Stretched. Greeted my cats (more like they greeted me asking for breakfast). I stuffed one of my mother's cats into a carrier because he's been harassing my cats--the bastard.
It hurt bad. I knew right away I needed to go to the ER and the second I got there I asked them to rush me to the nearest x-ray machine. Half an hour and a really nice pain killer later, I sat in a wheelchair, in front of a doctor, who told me what I already knew--the bone leading up to my pinky toe was broken. Fractured.
A cast went on a could of days later, after tons of icing and keeping the foot elevated (Oh, and more of those lovely pain killers). I've spent 80% of my time in bed ever since. I've successfully binge-watched Brooklyn Nine Nine in that time and several other shows. I wish I could say I've done a lot of reading. I've done even less writing. I'm a complete and utter failure. Successful as a bed-potato, but a complete and utter failure in everything else.
I guess you can say I lost my motivation. Being on a bed the entire day does that. Hence taking blogging back. I miss this space. I miss having somewhere to store my thoughts.
Now, if you will excuse me, there are six episodes of the final season of the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt waiting for me.