About writing....

Lately, I've been feeling that I should write more. Somehow the amount of activity going on in my head has been multiplying exponentially rather than atrophying into nothingness, amazingly, considering I've been pretty much the non-thinker recently, feeding on nothing very much else other than Bill Bryson and the telly, both of which are, although hugely entertaining, not exactly the last word in rocket science and innovative think-tanking.

Added to that, Blogger has been annoyingly annoying recently, showing me incomplete web pages where inspirational and pretty ones, encouraging me to spew out my guts in blog-postinging about events that are totally random OR embarassing OR meaninglesss, should have been. And now, I have to leave my post in This stupid Font instead of my favourite Verdana font, which besides being more aesthetically pleasing, is also more befitting of my, erh, bigness, in both personalities and size.

It just sucks doesn't it?

Back to my original intent.... Writing was never, is now not, and I doubt will ever be my forte. I've had people come up to me to tell me how well I write and all that, but I usually beg to differ. There's nothing in my writing that spells genius. There're no words in there that the typical 10-year old can't spell. I pretty much start all my sentences the same way, so where's the sentence structuring ingenuity for you. I get punctuationally lost in any sentence longer than two dozen words, and I can't talk about deep philosophical insightful things that cause ephiphanies in my readers. Heck, I even mix up my metaphors sometimes! And a English professor would tell anyone that I never properly present my arguments, if there are any of them at all in my essays; I meander in my presentations, and I have a certain habit of ending the essay talking about something not even remotely to what my original intention of writing was! Plus, I'm usually grammatically incorrect.

There you have it! I am considered a writer by no definition at all. In other words, nobody in their right minds will say I can write. And that's what I think too. Really.

And another thing that I've never confessed to anyone before. I struggle when I have to write. Oh, rubbishy things like these don't count of course. But if made to write anything else that has to be remotely intellegent at all, I am suddenly sized up, like limp lettuce in ice-cold water, with anxiety and writer's block and perspiration and wide-eye mania, and not presenting a very writer-like appearance at all.

Of course, Irony, with a capital "I" you noticed, will have it that I've always dreamt of being a writer, ever since I was a kid. But of course I knew that was highly improbable, but I wanted to be a writer like other kids wanted to be astronauts and doctors and supermen and fashion models, and back in the days when they were a little stupid, an air hostess, although God knows why anybody would think being an air stewardess was at all glamourous or fashionable an aspiration!

See, I'm meandering from my point again. Which is, to make things a little easier for me now, I no longer aspire to be a writer, I just write, whatever comes into my head, which, being of a rubbishy turn, is usually rubbish. But the truth of the matter is, I like rubbish, so I don't mind writing rubbish. Oh alright, it's true that I can afford to be a little less rubbishy sometimes, and not to always be so lame, but on the whole, it's of an acceptable level, of garbage-sity I mean.

And the only reason why I want to keep on writing is because there's so much crap where that came from; it doesn't ever seem to stop. And having friends who frequently ask me to stop talking nonsense or don't pick up their phones (all the time), it's hardly fair to me if I'm not allowed to air my bimbotic vacuous meaningless drivel in some form or other is it? So I write, or alternatively, I sometimes release it in the form of air/gas.

But I do get a little concerned sometimes, as to whether this blog is the best place to air my view. While I don't really mind constructive criticisms, I do take umbrage at constructive criticisms. Confused? Well, don't be. Just think of it this way, if you are trying to pass off obnoxious narrow-minded opinions in the guise of constructive criticisms, just because you don't agree with me, then I will take umbrage at that. What's wrong with just admitting you're obnoxious and narrow-minded? Just as long as your criticisms are fundamentally constructive, as opposed to destructive, then you're welcome to say your piece. And just as long as I don't have to agree with you, to save your feelings.

Meander meander meander. Don't I remind you of the Ganges river?

I do have to think of new and better ways to spread the word really. Especially since I've recently taken to not talking so much. Which is another post altogether. But in short, another new thing that I have taken up, on top of eating vegetables and writing more, is to talk less. I am determined to say everything only once per person. Anything more than that is a waste of my energy as well as causing a bigger carbon footprint.

Isn't this a long blog? Well, it isn't really. If you take out the non-relevant parts, you'd have realised I'd said nothing very substantial at all. But I'm really hoping that you're either to stupid to realise that, or you're entertained to object to this rather ridiculous post.