Yesterday I received a comment on this very site, from someone who has read the blog before, which read as follows:
I have never seen it once on the tv nor anywhere else for that matter. Maybe you should stop watching your tv and go do something else. All these things seem to piss you off why not go to tibet and sit on a hill and meditate a bit. Seriously dude you will burst something.
That’s fine. I guess it’s the impression I gave in yesterday’s post, but it got me thinking. Of course I don’t really care. I don’t care about the advert, I don’t want the job of remaking it, I’m not angry about it, it barely gave me a seconds thought, and the only reason I wrote about it was because I’d written it on a list of things to write about and chose that one in lieu of anything else vaguely interesting to write about. It’s just something to write about. I then realised that if I’m eliciting comments that don’t quite ‘get’ that, then I really have to ask myself why I bother.
I know why I bother; because I started to write every day and at some point during that, decided that I’d do it every day for a whole year, which would take me neatly past five hundred posts, a year of solid blogging and well past fifty thousand lifetime hits. But who cares? I don’t really care, it’s a real fucking ball ache (sorry Auntie B) to write this many words every single day and life is beyond hectic at the moment and I just don’t have the time to spare. I’d rather spend some time on myself, perhaps making myself less fat, perhaps just hanging out with my wife, or my friends, or frankly, just chilling out. Yeah, it’s only half an hour of my time to write it, but it impacts heavily on every day. Of course I don’t enjoy it either.
As I thought through these things yesterday, I contemplated who I would be letting down if I stopped. Myself? Not really. I couldn’t care less. I’ve proved I can write, I’ve proved I can write to a decent standard and a decent number of words, which was the point. I’ve also proved that if I spend more time on it, I get better results than when I rush to get it out before 9am every morning. Since August I’ve written well over two hundred posts, and somewhere in the region of a quarter of a million words, and during that time racked up around thirty thousand hits. So what? Well, so nothing as it happens.
So what happened when I put it ‘out there’ on the social networking sites which publicise my work? Exactly what I thought would happen, because I’m aware that a couple of hundred ‘friends’ don’t read it, and three hundred ‘followers’ don’t read it either, so the reaction I got from that was exactly what I expected (hoped?) to get. Nothing. A couple of witty quips, precisely three people (one family) who really wanted me to carry on and apathy from the rest. No, I’m not complaining, I’ve complained before about that. I’m relieved in a way. If I’m not arsed, and nobody who reads it is arsed, then why am I bothering? Well, for literally no reason whatsoever. I am literally wasting my ever decreasing precious time doing something which neither I nor anybody else could care less about.
It reminds me of when my favourite podcast stopped being made. When Adam & Joe stopped their radio show on BBC 6 Music, I was gutted and wished it was still there every week. What happened? Nothing happened, the small amount of time spent enjoying it was spent enjoying something else. I didn’t vocalise my issues to them or the BBC and they knew nothing about my feelings, which now, of course, don’t exist. It’s the same, but on an infinitely smaller scale, with this nonsense. A few friends really like it, but when they’re having their morning constitutional, they’ll have to play Scrabble instead of reading my blog. It’s no sweat really is it.
It’s not like I’m shutting down the site, or stopping the blogging. Of course not, there’s always something every now and again that I really want to blog about, so I will. Everyone will be all the happier for the occasional post rather than this over-egged rubbish ego trip which happens every day. I can then totally restructure my mornings, and just blog whenever I fancy it. It might also stop me obsessively checking my stats on a daily basis, to find out quite how few of my ‘friends’ have read each post and how the hits are buoyed up by Google, Stumbleupon and the like.
Of course the very fact that I’ve written an entire post about this says everything and nothing about the website you’re currently looking at. Over indulgent poppycock. I shall continue to overindulge in my poppycock as and when I see fit, and my life will begin to have some order. Perhaps I’ll still write for a few days before that happens, winding down as it were, there’s a whole list of stuff to talk about, plus my garden is being meddled with at the weekend, so that deserves a mention or two. I shall have a grand farewell, and a long break, to coincide with the show I’m about to do and the holiday I’m about to have. Once back, I shall doubtless have something to say. In the meantime, see you at the same time tomorrow for some garden based chat.
Incidentally, if at any time you think you might miss me, just delve into the other three hundred and fifty seven posts and find something to read. It’ll be worth it.
There we go, another thousand words wasted. (At least it will be once I’ve added this short caveat to up the word count). There.