Done with the gentle antidotes on boy parenting, probably not, but due to surface complications, I’m taking a break.
I’ve been toying with the notion of blogging for some time. I don’t know if I can be consistent. Funny I’ve never been concerned about having to few words before, but it’s not just about quantity I also find technology and self-promotion tedious.
I was a child who did not learn to read or write, but I’m no longer looking for sympathy, just a tidy and loud word outlet. I love recalling, reminiscing, playing with words. Well, making a fool out of myself by getting them mixed up and wrong. I also love the way my computer tidies up. My terrible spellings are consistently corrected incorrectly along the mechanical straight lines, which this enables me to put those thoughts down, nice and neat, row after row after row.
I have chapters, books, stacked in word documents, so if I do dry up there’s historic blog content, but I’m still adding new word documents to this scramble every day and never finding the time to finish that great work of autofiction. I wrote fiction first, then tired of my neatly resolved ultra-egos. The closer it came the more it splintered. Too muddled and too angry. The danger of those little black lines is my confused confessions have been recorded.
Stick with me, I now realise it’s going to be short rants, in daily blogs. It’s nurture. I’ve even been taking the advice of the youth of today. My teenage advisers and other youf, well if you count the under thirties. They think the way forward is an Instagram page, where I post a picture then waffle on for a few hundred words, because that’s what I do, but I’ve already hit the first hurdle. I tend to compute not phone so I’ve never bothered downloading the app.
Instagram’s not the normal social media platform for my generation, but then this makes me feel more confutable. Free to explore those splinters. Well that’s what I hope, because Facebook’s with my thousand friends plus, is not going to work. I have to keep up the ‘nice’ here.
I want to swim under the lake on my new platform. I don’t have any great revelations or answers to life juxtaposed with no idea which social media platform to taste these quandrums on. I’m open. Enjoying the winding path, to my inevitable end, but I’m appealing for help here too. Your ideas on where this woman should rant. I don’t like the word blog. Rant is much more cultured, arcuate, and romantic. Don’t you think?
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