You see there was this caveat - not the part about commenting on other people's blogs, that I can do - it was coming up with something of my own to post.
What do you mean you couldn't think of something to post? You post to this blog all the time.
Yes, yes, I know. But I post a sentence or two. An observation. A Seinfeldism. A random thought. Nothing in complete paragraphs that I could show my ninth-grade English teacher. That's right, get your head out of that Edward Gorey book Ms. Spring - I'm talkin' to you. Little of substance.
I sometimes marvel at bloggers who write daily missives. Where do they get their inspiration? Who's hanging the laundry and prepping dinner while they are writing?
I also know that there's many a site out there to provide inspiration for bloggers block in the form of various prompts and themes and five-minute free-form writing assignments. That I don't participate is my own lack of commitment I suppose. Or maybe it's something deeper.
I want to participate. I really do. I guess I just feel funny about admitting that I'm writing for an audience. That it's not just an online journal and oh look you happen to have found it. Picking a theme or participating in the chat means the jigs up - I do care. There. Fine. I said it. I care. I want you to read this. I want you to like me. I really do.
I feel a bit like Maurice Sendack's Pierre. Now can I fold the folding chair?
song: Son of a Preacher Man • artist: Dusty Springfield