A Study in Belligerence

What. In the hell. Is going on?

I mean that by way of expressing my astonishment at the state of the world, as well as by enthusiastic greeting.

I actually googled “Is blogging dead?” and all of the responses said “Of course, not, silly! People are still making bujillions through slapping up a ton of ads to products no one really wants anyway! Take my new e-course to learn how!”

Two things: 1-If I have to even ask, the answer is yes, blogging is dead. 2-Written infomercials are not blogs. If everything written is a prelude to a call-to-action that involves my email address, I’m done.

Do people not talk to each other anymore without dollar signs in their eyes? Asking for a friend. That friend is me. I am flummoxed about the internet and social media becoming a slap-fight for turning your people into customers. No, I don’t want to buy your damn stinky leggins, Kimberly. And no, I don’t need help learning to give people the finger, Vanessa. But if you want to sit down and talk about what your biggest fears are, I’m your non-gender guy.

I mean, I have a gender. She/Her. The term guy–I mean it in a non-gender way. Like bro. And guuuuuuuurl. Is anyone else’s brain hurting right now?

Considering it’s been a solid two months since I last wrote here, and it was merely sporadic updates before that, I can’t in good conscience take up the “Who Killed Blogging, I Just Wanna Talk” mantle. But sheesh almighty do I miss those connections.

Is this all just easing myself into a grand declaration of posting here more often, on a regular schedule? Hell naw, bro. I’ve come to accept about myself that I am one belligerent asshole. As soon as someone tells me to do something, even if I’m just about to do it, I will never, ever, ever do it. Even if that someone is me. I don’t work well on deadlines, it turns out, because I don’t respect them. I have more fun sticking it to The Man (myself in this case, she/her) and not meeting the deadlines I set for myself.

Take that, Past Nicole! You’re not the boss of me!

With that said, though, I have accepted that about myself, and in an act of loving-kindness towards my own tender psyche, I have given myself permission to do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want, as far as creative endeavors go. I know that the moment I start thinking in terms of “have to” and “really should” and “expectations” regarding my creative outlets, I might as well start digging a hole in the backyard now, because they’ll be mighty dead in short order.

I’ve been enjoying making videos for my YouTube account. It has taken two years (ish? Does time even still exist?) but I finally met my goal of getting 100 subscribers so I can have the personalized URL. Past that, I have no goals. I’m not tapping my foot waiting for 200 followers, or 500, or 1000 so I can monetize. I don’t want X amount of likes, or to be noticed by people more “famous” than I am. I just want to make cute, silly videos when I feel like it and go about my way.

But conventional YT wisdom tells us that, in order to bring in people (again, no longer my goal) we must post regularly. At least once a week. Videos between 10-20 minutes long, because the AlGoRhItHm demands it. And then the camera pans to me over here, sticking up all the middle fingers I can find at that shit. Because, as we’ve discussed, I’m a belliger–

You know, I think I made my point. When it comes to creation, I will do what I want, when I want. God made a duck-beaver and called it a platypus, so I think it’s okay for me to not respect deadlines when it comes to my own imagination.

It is my intention to write here more often. Even if blogs have become zombies of commercialism, this is actually very cathartic for me. Plus, it has my name on it so that’s cool, too. I paid a lot of money for this name, so I’d like to get a fair cost-per-wear. I’m not going to shoot myself in the foot, though, by telling you I’ll do it on a schedule. I will instead give you the heads up that, lately, I have a lot to say and the only way I feel like I can adequately express myself is through written word.

Which, if you’ve made it this far, is not saying much about my ability to communicate these days. Thems the breaks, kids.

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