I have written about blue skies, rainbows, and cows.
Perhaps I could write about how annoyed I am, on why we are expected to not be just drivers on the road, but also be mind readers or psychics with lightning-quick reflexes, all rolled into one. Turn on your indicators, they are there for a reason.
But I do not want to write about work, because, damn it – dreaming about it is already bad as it is. What, as if worrying about work is insufficient.
“So you have a blog, eh?”
“It’s not really a blog,” I replied – truth be told, I hate having this place referred to as a blog. Not doing so would invite plenty of questions, some I can certainly do without – but sometimes I just go along with it because, heck – that is what everyone likes to call it these days: commentary on reality shows – blog; latest news and views – blog; discounts offered at your friendly neighbourhood hypermarket – you guessed it – blog. Sooner or later, all personal websites will become known as just blogs, but oh – I digressed. “... it’s more like a journal, actually.”
“So how do you write?”
“Do you write with an audience in mind?”
“I… don’t think so, no.”
“That’s not going to work.”
Okay, so those were not quite the exact, spoken words – fact of the matter is, it was too long ago to be produced verbatim. Fine, the brief conversation took place nearly a year ago – but it left in me the impression that there must always be someone to read your work. And that someone is more often than not, not just one person.
Can not the reader be the writer, too, since the writer can be a reader?
Obviously, that is not the way things work.
Well, I do not know what you want to read. That means I failed at understanding my, ahem, beloved audience.
Or maybe I do write with an audience in mind (although I may claim not to) – just not all the time. And I do not know it. Why, it sure feels like I do not.
Right, right. So while we are it, what do you want me to write? Huh? Huh? Huh? Wait, do you want me to pluck you the moon from the sky as well, then?
I feel like I am attempting a lame monologue. Oh, monologues need to have listeners, too?