The Curse of Blogging

How do you get to be a blogger?

Personally, I think you must be cursed at birth.

A gypsy woman (I am SO in the mood to be politically incorrect) spies you in your baby carriage, slinks over and slaps a hex on you.

This child will be blessed with nice legs, a high IQ, an overbite, and an insatiable desire to create a blog.

Create a what? A blob?? No one back then knew what the strange lady in the weird clothes was talking about, there being no Internet let alone blogs at the time, so they didn’t take it seriously. Although they did notice that the kid in question was growing great gams, was pretty sharp,and had a toothy smile.

Years passed.

The child (Have you guessed it was me?) grew up and went into publishing, which some would say was a curse in itself, but that’s another story. And then she sold her company, did some consulting and freelance writing, and one fine day looked in the mirror and saw a blogger.

What can I say. It was written.

Blogging has its benefits, mainly that you get to express yourself. Without interruption.
People, that’s huge. Try telling a story — even a short one  without someone else jumping in and spoiling the punch line. If you can, then you probably talk without taking a breath, and you definitely are not a member of my immediate family.

The bad part of blogging is that . . .  like having children — or a dog, or probably even a Chia Pet — it needs constant attention.

Write it. Edit it. Find illustrations. Answer the comments.
Be funny. (Unless you’re writing serious stuff or one of those My Cat Got Sick This Morning things.)

When you’re feeling funny, all this is extremely enjoyable. But when you’re not  — and if you’re a regular reader then you know that my mom is in the hospital and that there is nothing much I find humorous about that at the moment — you still feel a compunction to write the blog.

It’s like the guy in that classic Dunkin Donuts commercial, Time To Make The Doughnuts. Don’t you sometimes get up in the morning and say (metaphorically), Time to make the doughnuts? You don’t? All right. I can live with that. But you get the idea. The guy loves his work, but sometimes he’d rather stay in bed.

For me, it’s Time To Post The Blog, often written in the wee small hours of the morning, when I should have been doing anything else but writing a blog.

Oh well. I guess it’s just the gypsy in my soul . . .
Or maybe it’s the sugar rush from eating all those damned donuts.