Confessions of a broken blogger
The only reason I visited the old blog was to dig up stuff about J. I was going to write about him in my other blog (yes, the polish blog) and thought it would be fun to include some stories from the old blog.
But you know what happens when you search for “J”? You get every single post you’ve ever posted as a result. Apparently, I use the letter J way too much. Thanks a lot, internet. Big help.
I searched for “Jason” instead and the result wasn’t satisfying either – it only yielded 25 posts when I know I’ve written about J way more times than that.
I am the Goldilocks of archive search results. Too many, too few. Bring on the goddamn bears.
But while the search didn’t give me what I needed, it did have a positive effect. Reading some of my old blog entries made me want to post here again. I don’t think I’ll ever be as open and as free and crazy as I was before (Seriously, when I see my archives, I always end up going, “Holy fuck, I wrote that for everyone to see?! WTF.”) but actually feeling the urge to open WordPress and type something here is a big step.
Sometimes I think, maybe my life was just more interesting then. Maybe I just had more things to write about in 2002. But that’s not true. Crazy things still happen to me. I stalked the New Kids On The Block. I was bitten by a lion in Africa. I drank so much I fell asleep in the bathroom. Why didn’t I write about that?
Here’s why: I’m a broken blogger.
Little bits and pieces of myself are scattered all over the internet – on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, my friends’ inboxes, the newspaper’s website – while this page remains static. Sad. Ignored.
Maybe that will finally change. Maybe.