I opened this little dot on the Internet a week ago so I have some platform to write when I feel like it. This means that upon opening this, I was under the impression that I am yearning to write again. Given that, how many posts (real ones, not like this or this) should you, the reader, expect by now? Take that number and compare it to how many posts are actually done by now; notice that the difference is the first number. That means, in case you’re too stupid to do simple arithmetic, I haven’t written anything. None. Nothing. Nada. The question now is: why haven’t I posted anything?
Is it because I have absolutely no idea what to write? Probably not. I’m currently reading Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, which is… *I will reserve my words when I finally finish it*; Lady Gaga misplaced an umlaut in her song Yoü and I, which I should have noticed months ago (then again, I’m very lousy in finding details); and I rediscovered the time-burning joys of playing Diablo II, which I haven’t played since playing someone else’s file in an internet café years ago; among others. I have many ideas to choose from, and some of them are worth writing about.
Is it because I write poorly, and the good forces of the Internet are blocking it from public scrutiny? I hope not. If I wrote so poorly, not only would I not open this little dot, I would also stick to reblogging and tweeting in text speak. Besides, the bitches and bastards hu ryt lyk dis stil hav a visbl presnce on d intrnet (I hope my impression was poor, so that at least I know I’m doing something right).
Is it because… never mind, the answer is probably no anyway. Yes, the answer is most probably “No.”
What is it then? Why is the actual output 100% less than the expected output? To answer this quickly is boring, hence not worth writing (or maybe I can’t answer it quickly, who knows?). Therefore, I will answer this the long way, which probably won’t lead to a coherent answer. This is perfect because I specialise in being incoherent (which is a huge reason, if not the reason, why I can’t speak well in public, but that’s another story)!
In case you have memory gap, recall that I claim to “specialise in being incoherent.” Perhaps one of the reasons why I can’t post anything is because I have many (perhaps too many) ideas, but no way to tie them together. Usually, I will just put these things and post a Smörgåsbord of ideas without bothering to tie them up or even checking if the endeavour of tying them up is worth pursuing; now, I’m not doing so because something tells me that the Smörgåsbord may (read: WILL) just end up like the colour of leftover paint in a palette– shit. As indicated previously, I have so many ideas at hand; the problem lies in how I can’t seem to pick one that I can discuss properly. When I do pick one, I end up spewing random, seemingly-related ideas that end up going nowhere.
Then, there’s the part where I can’t pick one. It’s been a recurring theme in my life that when there’s a given set of choices, it takes me a while to choose; sometimes, the less choices there are, the longer it takes me to pick. I’m not exactly a bank of ideas, but even with just a handful of ideas, I find myself lost like a kid in a toy store, candy shop, or whatever the appropriate analogy is. I’m sure that this phenomenon is not something that’s uniquely mine, but it brings to light another problem: I have little or no direction. I have a lot of ideas on what to write, but I don’t know which to pick and where to start. Worse, this extends to my life: I want a lot of things in life, but I can’t seem to start on most of them.
Then there’s my problems with time management. I don’t know how long the typical blogger writes (according to this, it should take less than an hour), but it takes me ages. Even when I’m “inspired,” I will probably take at least a few hours. Perhaps my free time can’t accommodate writing, and even if it did, I will not allot a proper amount of time for it.
At this point, I haven’t done anything past the level of presenting conjectures. I could try to explain why, but the endeavour is pointless. It won’t fix anything: I still have nothing to present in the form of an entry…
… Oh wait.