Well, I did it. I made a blog.
And if you want escape from snakepit that is my mind, I suggest that you go back from whence you came before it is too late.
I am not a very social person, both online and in the “real” world. My idea of contributing to the time-sucking entity that is Facebook is scrolling through my feed and maybe clicking “like” every now and then on someone’s picture. Diving further into my online habits would reveal that those I grace with these expensive “likes” tend to be the same eight people.
It’s not that I don’t like everyone else’s posts, it’s just that I see something from a friend or family member and decide that I should probably do something to let them know I am alive. Because let’s face it, I probably won’t be seeing them face-to-face until I’m roped into another social gathering.
That, and I’m lazy. I still haven’t made an Instagram account simply because I haven’t thought of a decent username. I’ve had the app downloaded on my phone for months, but have yet to open it.
I also tend to be a little self-conscious when it comes to my online presence. We’ve all heard the stories of someone losing their job because of something stupid they did on social media. I am aware that posting something like “this is my wonderful lizard, I can’t believe that we have been together for two years. He has been so supportive of me and I don’t know what I would do without him” would send all future employers running for the hills. It might cause people to make funny faces at their computer screens, sure, but I think my future career would be relatively safe. Still, I tend to overthink things. Sure, clicking that thumbs up button takes roughly .03 seconds and almost no amount of thought, but then I tend to start thinking about what everyone else will think and my mind spirals into an anxiety-riddled mess for the next few minutes. Then I scroll down to see yet another Minion meme and the anxiety passes to make room for rage.
So when one considers my ghosting on Facebook and the fact that only a handful of people from real life have both seen and been horrified by my talkative self, a blog written by me should, by all accounts, not work.
But you see, there is something that happens when you spend 80% of your time listening instead of talking. You get thoughts (shocking concept, I know). Thoughts, that if spoken aloud, would probably lead people to think that you are insane, have a dead (or alive) body hidden in your closet, or are a hidden genius who just loves to watch the world burn. I can assure you that at least one of those is untrue.
My skill-level when it comes to verbally expressing these thoughts is on the same level as my ability to cook a complete meal. Mac n’ cheese, anyone? But when it comes to writing, well, I would like to think I could dish you guys up a five-course meal. A five-course meal of mac n’ cheese, maybe, but I promise it will be delicious.
I will admit that I have been planning to jump onto the blogging bandwagon for about a year now, but it wasn’t until recently that I decided to put myself out there and show the internet just how true the phrase “it’s the quiet ones you need to look out for” really is.
So I sat down this last weekend, created an account on WordPress, and then had to immediately restart my heart with a defibrillator as I realized I have no idea how to work a blog platform, much less make it look good. Setting up a blog is not typing a few Taylor Swift lyrics into the status box and clicking “post” to alert everyone to your most recent breakup, guys. It’s shuffling through a hundred pages and tabs for an hour just to learn how to change the color of your heading’s font. Then ultimately deciding to use the default color anyway because it looks the best (or, hypothetically speaking, you forgot to save your changes and you really want there to be more to your weekend than how-to blogs and tutorial videos).
Let’s just sweep my technology handicaps under the rug for now. Maybe if we don’t acknowledge them, they will go away. My real problem came when I opened up the Word document, waiting for a year’s worth of inspiration to come flowing through my fingers to the computer, and all I could think to write was: Calli has no idea what she is doing.
Seriously, what is someone supposed to do for a first blog post? I guess I could jump right in and share the babysitting experience that led to my phobia of cooking pizza, but I feel like a blog as strange as this one deserves an introduction. I am then faced with the question: an introduction of what? Me? Because let’s face it, the five people who clicked on this post (and whose therapy bills I will inevitably have to pay for later) probably already know the surface-level attributes that I would include in an introductory post: I write, I would be happy in a world where dogs replaced people, and I have an unhealthy addiction to Triscuits.
So I did what one of my English professors is always telling us to do: I killed my editor. Not to say that the corpse-in-the-closet theory has been confirmed, just that I started writing and continued to do so without paying any attention to what exactly I was putting on the page. Thus, this monster was born.
And maybe that is what I’m seeking to do with this blog: share my thoughts and ideas with the reckless abandon I tend to suppress in an attempt to appear normal.
The next few months are going to be a wild ride, probably one that will require multiple bottles of Pepto-Bismol, but one that I am wholeheartedly looking forward to.
For those of you who plan to come along with me, I highly suggest that you buckle up.