We all spend a bit of time on this sort of thing, don't we? We ask why we persist in doing something so difficult with little or no reward. We ask ourselves what we want out of life, our entertainment, our employment, our friends and families. Do we really know what we want? Maybe some of you do. Or maybe, like me, some of you think you know the whats and whys, but have trouble with the hows and whens. Some of you more unfortunate ones that are exactly like me change your mind constantly and are easily distracted by anything remotely distract-worthy.
I would like to officially blame Simon C. Larter for Tweeting about Cracked.com on January 15th. I cannot drag myself away from the place. When I was a kid, I collected Cracked magazine. I'd spent the last couple of decades certain the mag went tits up, and was thrilled to find it reinvented online. I've read through pretty much every article they've posted since 2006 in the last several weeks, and participate in contests and volunteer to write articles now. They've yet to accept my work. Oh, those familiar feelings...
Which leads us to rejection. Not just of our work, but of us as individuals. I don't handle it well. I don't mind when people don't 'get' my writing. I understand it's a bit left of left field. But since being strongarmed into joining Facebook, I've been able to rekindle those feelings of high school rejection. Mostly because of those I knew 20 years ago in high school. All in all, I've joined Twitter (not posted since January), Facebook (posted once, commented twice), and have accounts at other places on the spiderwebs, and I am sure of only one thing in my life: I totally suck at this social media thing.
I think it's the lingering fear that it's sort of an eternal Miranda Rights. EVERYTHING YOU SAY OR DO WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU UNTIL THE END OF TIME. Feels pretty permanent, doesn't it? Sort of like commitment. I kinda fail at commitment, too. Perhaps this is the problem. Or, more likely, I'm musing to the world instead of keeping it in my head where it belongs, and as with all conversations with myself, I don't actually have a point.
It is with a mixed bag of bravery to beat my own drum and certainty I definitely come across unprofessional that I will post this. Believe it or not, I'm giggling.
P.S. Speaking of giggling; Lenny my man, you're the sweetest kid under the sun.