My Harshest Critic

Oh, the expectation and guilt of (not) blogging. I've wanted to make this canvas much more alive with my presence on the page, especially since I have completed school and am often bored as of late. There is not one decent excuse for not updating Our Fodder on a bran-fueled regular basis. And so therein lies the problem. In an habitual and tired attempt at self-sabotage, I've simply stood in the way of articulating my own life, and for damn good reason.


Life these days lacks action or passion, and is quite frankly vacant. Not that thoughts aren't swirling around in my dream and waking lives, but I am encountering a tendency towards pettiness that is unbecoming, if not downright stupid. My mind wanders to such spiritually uninspiring topics as television's The Bachelorette and sometimes settles on the most unhelpful insights therein--for example, that because Ali chose Roberto that means that Chris L. must necessarily be available for me to ride off into the sunset with ... sadly, that's a waking thought. At the opposite extreme of this sort of hollow pettiness, my consciousness tumbles down convoluted paths of fabricated worry. Exhibit A: "Was I impolite with the grocery clerk? Am I impolite in general? What sort of word is impolite? Does my roommate find me impolite? Oh dear ... and what must her cat think!" This typically results in me interrogating the cat once I get home from the store, to no avail.


Ultimately, I need to chill the (insert your favorite four-letter word here) out and stop obsessing about reality television and the unknowable opinions of a certain long-haired feline. I need to stop obsessing about not having anything worthy to write about. How lovely it would be if I could bring my mind to rest on something lasting, how spiritual, really. Rather, I shall work to direct it towards streams of greater depth, streams that hopefully yield some sort of contribution to society, or more realistically, bring my mind to think think think 'til my thinker is sore! Then perhaps there will be silence.


RESOURCES:
My pathetically narrow noggin.