I know I stopped writing.
I read books and I watch movies and everywhere there are these stories…fantastic, moving, inspired works of art (well, some not so much so – I have been reading Twilight, after all). I suppose I feel a little (or a lot) subpar.
One thing I do a great deal is read blogs. People I know, people I don’t know, people everybody knows. And I have to wonder – why is everyone trying to teach me lessons?
Sure, some of the blogs I read I go to solely to learn. Knitting blogs, yarn and fiber, running, yoga. But these blogs are written by people who either make a living blogging about what they’re teaching me, or physically doing/teaching what they are talking about.
The blogs I’m mostly referring to, though, are just written by random Joes. 9 to 5 schmucks like everyone else, who register a blogspot/wordpress/whatever and spend chunks of their written time condescending.
I don’t want to learn about your religion/weightloss/philosophy/parentingif you call me “Dear Friend” or brother/sister/son/daughter. You’re not Billy Damn Graham.
What’s wrong with being real? With saying, “You know, I got up this morning and made my kids eat PopTarts and told them to play video games just so I could poop in peace,” I mean, hell, I can relate to that!
Maybe the lessonteachers are trying to help the world on some grand scale, I don’t know. I just know I don’t take them seriously.