write.as/jonbeckett

Today is the last day of my week off work – apart from the weekend, but that doesn't count really, does it? I'm spending the day at home listening to the washing machine, folding clothes, tidying up, and noodling around with things on the internet. I feel like I should be doing something with these days off, but then remember why I'm off work in the first place – trying to get better – trying to rest. Not doing things is difficult when you're used to chaos.

Yesterday evening I back-filled the last year's worth of blog posts into Tumblr. Every time I walk away from Tumblr I end up returning. I started looking around for a few of the people I used to follow, and realised how many have stopped writing. I found a list a while ago – on an old ZIP disk – of people who's blogs I used to follow – and realised that perhaps only one in ten of them is still posting.

I suppose it's easy to presume that blogging as I have known it – as a personal journal posted to the web – is almost dead. Maybe that's because I've been wandering along with my eyes shut though – maybe people ARE out there, sharing their lives – I'm just not looking for or noticing them. I visit the handful of people I have followed forever, and read their stories as you might a favourite book in a comfy old armchair.

I find reaching out stressful. I find writing the first comment on a blog I have just discovered incredibly difficult. Clicking a follow or like button – knowing the author will receive a notification – only increases the stress. Suddenly their gaze might fall on you, and you panic in anticipation – checking that your profile or about page isn't too horrendous – that your last post isn't overly dramatic, depressing, or idiotic.

Anyway. Friday's clock is ticking away, and I'm sitting here writing this rather than going to the corner shop to buy bacon to make promised sandwiches for lunch. Later.