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Note to self

In my RSS feed this morning:

Ratika's blog post on Why Blog made me laugh because omfg...I think about this all the time.

ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME.

Not only do I wrestle with the why do I blog question, but the which platform or container do I write in question is a barrel of pleasure. (Email letters or blog? Blog or email letters....cry).

I must love this particular kind of self-torture. I must! Otherwise, why the fuck do I continually mull over the same damn questions?

Are all bloggers plagued by this existential masochistic line of thinking?

Sigh.

Brandon's post about what happens to our blogs and digital creations after we die hit a sore nerve. I've written and thought about this so much over the years. I don't have anyone willing to fuss over blog things/upkeep this site after I die.

I mean, my own boyfriend doesn't even know I blog. I know, that's prob weird that I haven't shared that side of myself with him. I guess I'm afraid of being judged by him? Is this a red flag? Am I the red flag? A part of me wants to keep this space separate from my everyday life. I want people to read me, but also...I'm terrified of people reading me. (I'm a lot of fun).

If all my writing and art will eventually be internet dust scattered across the void, why bother tending to this site? Even if I were to transfer all my posts into some kind of printed matter, that book would no doubt end up on someone's overstuffed bookshelf and, in time, a landfill heap.

Idk.

Ultimately, the only thing that matters is the now of life.

I need to get comfortable letting go of the why of things. Allow myself to enjoy the things I enjoy—full stop.

Note to self:

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