After pouring myself out on this board and in my journal for years, I’ve decided to finally cave in and try blogging. I’ve never been one to promote any non-fictional writing of my own in any way unless it’s fiercely academic—that is, pretentious and overwrought, which I find great joy in. But I have a feeling that unloading my emotions and thoughts will actually enhance my fictional writing and provide a great outlet, one whose necessity will become much clearer as I continue these posts. I expect to be talking to myself a lot, while hoping that I’m reaching out to that vague mass of people I love. For once in my life, I completely feel like speaking, so this will—with all luck—become unbearably personal. Otherwise, why am I here?
I should mention that I find this incredibly vain, which isn’t a judgment on any friends who blog. There is something vain yet necessary and therapeutic about documenting yourself. I mention vanity only because I realize that these posts will have immense importance to myself and probably just a passing interest to anyone who sees them. But they say that regular masturbation soothes the prostate, so the mental equivalent must also be worthwhile. As far as therapy goes, it’s always amused and interested me how you can mentally dwell on a problem for days without really feeling better—your mood fluctuates, like a tickle or itch, without anything reaching a true resolution. When you write your thoughts down, though, they lift immediately. You can feel it in your body and mind. I suppose some vanity is necessary, then, whether you call it ego or confidence or narcissism. Like anything else, you simply have to know when to turn it off. Vice is the spice of life.
And so I’ll crack the wine on something which hopefully explains the best and worst possible aspects of myself. You can call me Chris D.
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