Why Do You Blog?
Sometimes, a blogger needs a day of rest. Or sometimes three days of rest. Or sometimes a week of rest.
I was kind of bemused, you could say, to get a blog spanking from - of course - an anonymous poster telling me it's "rude" to not post everyday, that people "expect" me to post something everyday.
Well, ya know, sometimes I just have nothing to say. And, sometimes, I just don't feel like it. And sometimes, I like to watch the fifth season of Curb Your Enthusiasm (which I just bought!) instead of blogging. Shit, I think that makes me human.
And, sometimes, I go out of town. Like this long weekend (in Canada) I headed to Scottsdale where the house is finally ready!
I had a grand ole time, and didn't blog. Spank me! Harder! Ouch! Oh yeah, baby.
After getting technologically spanked, I started to think, 'Why do people blog?' I mean, really, tell me why you blog.
A lot of the time, I blog about The Dictator because I need advice or need to know that other people are in the same shoes I am in at present with her developments. (Has any other mother just been told, "When I grow up I want to drive a garbage truck so I can take away your poo?")
Other times I blog, because I am a writer and need to get my thoughts out. I suppose other times I like to talk about controversial things, to figure out human nature, and about things that piss me off. Because it's kind of like therapy.
And, sometimes I think, "Fuck, wouldn't it be nice for someone to actually pay me to do this? Hello? Anyone want to pay me to do this?"
But, honestly, I don't blog just to blog. And I don't want to blog just to blog.
I would blog, just to blog, I suppose, if someone said, "Hey Eckler! I'll pay you $500 an hour to blog every single day for an hour." I mean, most people don't love their jobs, but they work because they have bills to pay.
I love doing my mommy blogger column in The Globe and Mail, Canada's national newspaper.
But, trust me, I've had other writing jobs where it was fucking work.
I had to write because I was getting paid to write. And there was always a pair of shoes my feet just wanted to jump into. Thus, I would write just to write (and cash the paycheck) even when I wasn't fully into writing about whatever.
I'm in a better place now. My fiance says that I've squirreled my money away. And it's kind of true. I mean, for the first ten years of my working life, I would spend like I was a high roller. I wanted a Prada coat, I'd buy it.
But I was never saving anything. And it didn't really matter. As long as I could come up with rent money.
Then, along came The Dictator. And everything changed. I mean, I started to have paranoid thoughts like, "What if The Fiance and I don't make it as a couple and I have to support her on my own?" "What if The Dictator wants to go to an American College?" (or for that matter a Canadian one.) And, "What if she wants to be a professional skater and I have to buy those very expensive uniforms?"
So, yes, I've started to save. And I'm not even saving it for me. I look at Prada dresses now and I want them. But now I'm like, "Whatever." The coat I bought last year will be just fine.
Ok, that's kind of a lie. But now I'll see a coat for $400 and I'll think, "OK, that's so much better than $4000."
The truth is, I don't even look that great in designer clothes. I don't look good in make up and I look better in flip flops, ripped jeans and a plain white tank top when my hair is a mess. That's me.
But I'm getting off topic. I think the topic being I'm also in a better place because I want to like what I do now, even if I'm not making a ton of money.
One woman I know just left a high powered ad job, where she was getting paid a ton of dough, to become a personal trainer.
Other people can't believe this. I saw her last night and told her my thoughts, which were, "It is so fantastic!" I mean, she wanted to be a personal trainer, and she's going for it. I love that. Screw doing things for a lot of money. Do what you want to do, as long as you can pay the bills and give your child a great life.
I always tell The Fiance that the happiest time in my life was when I was living in an attic apartment (With a pet mouse) for $600 a month. Not that I'm not happy now, but the point is, money truly does not buy happiness.
It buys freedom to travel, I suppose. And, yes, I hear the argument, "You can only say money doesn't buy happiness if you have money!"
Well, as someone who suffered from P.P.D in a major fucking way, I know what it's like to be depressed.
And I know what it's like to be happy. I could have had all the medical attention I wanted and/or needed and had the money, I suppose, to buy all the Miu Miu bags a gal could want when I was depressed. But I still couldn't get out of bed.
The best thing having Post Partum Depression did was make me realize that life can be good, if you make it good. (Kind of like telling your children, "Only boring people are bored!")
I love to blog. But I want to blog when I have something to blog about. Or else you'd all be The Fiance and have to listen to every mundane thought that passes through my mind. Trust me, you don't want to be on that end.
And I don't want to make blogging a chore. What the fuck? I have enough chores to do. Blogging should be fun and helpful and entertaining and supportive. That's why I read blogs.
But, no, it should be anything BUT a chore. Like I said, I enjoy blogging. In fact, I love it. But that doesn't mean I got to do it every day (Hey I also like getting facials, but I don't do that everyday.)
So spank away. Oh yeah baby.