Who Reads Blogs Anyway?

I try never to pretend that people are interested in what I'm saying. I hate the feeling of saying something then coming to the bleak realization that everyone would be far happier if I would just shut up.

That being said, I also don't write assuming people care what I have to write. I write to please myself and no one else. Certainly there are actually people who care about what I put down here (my father, to name one), but I don't do this for their benefit.

I enjoy writing, I really do. Although I'm going to school for design, I generally feel as though I can better express myself through words than through lights. Lighting, to me anyway, is more about the visceral emotions of a play. You should be able to feel the tension in the play, the emotions without specifically realizing, "Gee, these cool blue lights really show how sad they are" I feel like a play's lighting is most successful when it's not so obvious. With writing, however, I feel less restricted, that I can be either as subtle or obvious as I would like with the only restraint being my own ability. Even more than that, I'm writing about myself and I will always be more connected to myself and my own emotions than to Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, or his characters Didi and Gogo.

Writing, as I do, it would be nonsensical to write as if there were countless scores of people (read: fans) waiting for my newest entry, fervently pressing the refresh button on the computer. My goal is merely to put my thoughts down on the liquid crystal screen that has become modern man's paper.

If you (assuming there is a "you"––though how could there not be if this text is being read?) care about what I have to say, then wonderful. I appreciate the care, truly, though it does not validate me or this journal of mine.