A blogger’s life used to be different, back when those self-gratifying social network sites weren’t still much of a fad. A blogger’s life was pretty simple: The blogger does, witnesses and reviews activities, and eventually put sthese accounts on a journal in reverse-chronological order.
I used to blog at least once in two days. I make a story out of the most commonsensical anecdotes that will sound like a torn-out leaf from a schoolboy’s diary. I wrote about annoying professors, horrendous films and TV shows, parties, crushes, more crushes, and B-plus opinions on politics and the social scene. Apart from the cheese and corn pouring out of my blog posts, the most important thing for me was that I could write.
Then again, times have obviously changed… I barely blog anymore.
For one, my other foot is buried in the corporate grave. Believe it or not, I barely check my Facebook now. (Fine, I tweet regularly, but that deserves another blog post). Internet surfing revolves around the latest news. I can’t even afford to like a post on Tumblr now. I have softbound books pending. The last time I actually exercised was in the time of Abraham, yes, the father of Isaac. To sum it all up: I HAVE NO LIFE.
If I was in a musical, I could’ve just easily sang the first lines of Elphaba Thropp in her Defying Gravity number: “Something has changed within me. Something is not the same.”
I could’ve belted it even better than Idina Menzel!
I dunno, perhaps I just miss writing—and not the writing I do in the newsroom. What I miss is the kind of writing which usually helps the blogger clear both his heart and mind after zealously ending a post with a period.