Despair
There’s something about blogging. There’s an allure to working on a piece of writing without deadlines. Without word-limits. Without questions to answer. After all, we’d all like to think we’re the sort of people whose minds churn out off a relentless stream of interesting things.
But most of us, in truth, are tedious souls. And so, we sit, hunched over laptops, our eyes spltting with the glare of the screen, our fingers poised over the keyboard, trying desperately to be interesting for an audience we do not know and whose interests are unfathomable.
And, for the most part, we fail. But we hide it. We get sucked into a stream of self-referential nonsense, and ride the coat-tails of others by pointing out the great works of other people.
What’s the point?
