Once upon a time, I was working nights in a factory sewing men’s pants. I was going out with a 19 year old who was failing high school English for the second time despite having me to help out whenever he needed. I had a pretty mundane routine those days–I would get up and do a Bodies by Gilad workout on the tv and then watch Designing Women. It was a lifeline for me, and half of my being able to get out of the bed in the morning was because at least I could watch Designing Women. It wasn’t a good time for me, although it was brief.
My favorite episode was one where a man designed a box that would play a track of applause and cheers when it was opened. I can’t say I remember any mroe of the episode than that, probably because that little bit was the part that resonated with me the most. I desperately needed a box of applause.
I don’t know if it was because I was thrust on stage early on for dance recitals and skating competitions, or if it’s my Leo craving of the spotlight, or maybe it’s just human nature to enjoy being appreciated. Either way, I go through periods where I need desperately to be the center of attention. Which is hard when you’re a mother, and hard when you’re shy, and hard when you want the people around you to shower you with compliments without having to ask for them.
For a long time, having a blog has satisfied my need for a way to showcase my writing and my ideas, and sometimes even my decisions in life. Lately, however, I have been finding myself enjoying blogging far less than I used to. The ideas come harder, sometimes it feels like a chore, and probably worst of all, I spend a lot of time wondering if anyone is reading (apologies to y’all who comment–I didn’t say it was rational wondering 😉 ) I find myself thinking things like, ‘If you care about me you should care about my writing’ which leads to the ever popular, ‘I must sound like a fool because I send out the address to people and they never come to read or they do a couple of times and then don’t come back’. The truth is, it hurts me so much that people who are supposed to care about me don’t seem to read what I write. And it makes me wonder if I am just pretending that I’m a writer. And most of all, it makes me wonder if the need to have people read what I write means that I’m not finding the True Artistic What-The-Fuck-Ever-I’m-Supposed-to-Have.
Why do y’all do it? Do you find enjoyment in blogging when you don’t get a lot of feedback? Am I the only person who craves that box of applause?