So I heard about this thing called "blogging" not too long ago from my friend Grace, down at starbucks. She told me it's some sort of recent phenomenon that's taking over the internet. Anybody can have a blog, Grace said. It's like a diary - or, a journal - that people write and then post online.
Grace seemed pretty excited about this whole "blogging" concept. Me, on the other hand? Not so much.
Here's the thing... I don't blog. Jessica Hardy doesn't blog. There will be no blogging. Because, well, there's no blogging to be done...
I mean, seriously. This whole idea of publishing my thoughts on the internet for all the world to see? Uncensored, unabashed? That doesn't sound too appealing to me. I'm sure I'd get carried away. I'm sure someone, somewhere, would be offended. And, that wouldn't be very good.
My friends - Jaz and Grace - I'm pretty sure they wouldn't want to read about their love lives or their lies or their very personal, secret social lives on the world wide web. Because that's what I'd blog about. You know, if I were into this whole blogging thing.
I wouldn't blog about myself, that's for sure. Nope. I'm much too guarded for that. Like I'd ever talk about my problems or my issues. Like I'd ever mention my family. I mean, could you imagine me blogging about my Father - my perfect succesful Father? Or his lack of knowing his own daughter? His arrogance? The fact that he judges me every second I'm around him? Or my Mother - Who hates my guts and wishes she had another child, a boy? How she expects me to be perfect? Or what about my perfect cousin - Georgina? About how she is a master at her violin when I play three bleeding instruments? how she is always better than me? how I should be just like her? My blog would be very complicated.
Nope. I'd rather endure a fun-filled evening of Chinese water torture than blog about things like...My depression. I wouldn't even know where to begin with that one. The reason It started. The people who caused it. The pain and anguish it makes me feel. Or how every smile is a silent scream.
I've lived on that emotional roller coaster too long. I certainly don't need to write about it. And end up feeling all sad and miserable and pathetic...no thank you.
See? I get carried away. Blogging wouldn't be healthy for me. Besides, my friends would constantly be reminding me that I'm a snivelling loser who has WAY too much self-pity. Not a blogger. I can hear them now. There I'd be, posting my online diary for everyone to read. And scrutanize. And judge. Seriously? Like I need anymore scrutiny or judgement in my life.
Not to mention - I have no time to blog! I barely have enough time to shave my legs, or cut my hair, or sleep. I get very, little sleep. I don't even know why I get up on a morning. If I have a moment to spare... if I have a second to relax or unwind...I am not going to spend those moments or seconds hunched over a computer, pouring my heart out to total strangers on the internet.
And, well, what do you know - my mother is calling me. See? What'd I tell you? I. Don't. Blog. Okay, seriously? You know this doesn't count as a blog, right?
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