A couple of years ago I had a blog, but unfortunately for anyone who decided to read it the posts were an average of 3000 words long, straight from the annals of “too much information” and full of more self absorption than a whole warehouse of Chux Superwipes.
As you can tell I’m still self absorbed, but yesterday I frantically tried to remember my password so I could get into the thing and delete it. I’m not ashamed of it, just moving on. Honestly. In a sort of double edged sword scenario I have just started writing for a website who will publish two posts a week for me, but that meant any future Google searches of my name may have landed on de aforementioned blog. And of course I’m conceited enough to think anyone who reads the new site will immediately want to e-stalk me, make scrapbooks of my blogs and offer to clean my house for eternity, so I don’t want their sweet little obsessed minds to be sullied with the filthy, debaucherous tales of my recent past life (don’t bother,I’m telling you, it’s deleted).
(Why is there a red squiggle under debaucherous? That’s how you spell it Mr Spell Check. Debaucherous. Debaucherous. Debauchery. Ohhh right, for that you stop.)
Remember when you were a teenager and had that kind of devotion, that all encompassing fixation on someone? For me it was mostly about who I was going to marry or who was going to be my best friend. Over the years the strongest contenders for husbands were Ricky Schroeder (sorry, it’s just plain Rick now isn’t it, he’s a grown up) and River Phoenix. Have I already said this? Madonna was my one and only BFF wish (long before that acronym was even invented) because really, imagine her life. There’d be no time to have any other best friends and I’m sure she wouldn’t allow it anyway. But then came all that Kabbalah malarkey and I had to drop her. Besides, religion doesn’t suit me and neither would have all of those white outfits.
Anyyyyyyyyway, it was Halloween yesterday, so that means I had a little thought for River on his deathaversary. He died on October 31st nineteen years ago. Far out, nineteen years ago?? How old am I?
So yesterday I decided it’s time to lay obsessions with famous people to rest for good and concentrate solely on being obsessed with myself. Luckily WordPress came to the rescue and now I’ll celebrate that date for an entirely different reason. You see, yesterday I got a record fifteen “likes” on a post. Ohhh wow, thanks guys.
I realise fifteen is not much, in fact it’s a bit piddly really, but it’s a start and it just reminded me that I’ve been neglecting this little bloggy bloggins haven’t I? Sorry Bum Diaries, I will try hard to give you more attention, because I also just realised that giving you more attention is really just giving me more attention. Win win. And sorry to all my “likers” over the last month or so, I will endeavor to give you back some attention really soon.
It also finally clicked yesterday that the posts people “like” are the short ones, the ones with just a picture and a smart arse comment or three. As you can see today I’m ignoring that little factoid. But my last blog taught me that 3000 words is about 2000 too many, so here on The Bum Diaries I try to keep it under 1000. Baby steps people! As you can see it doesn’t always work, but you know self obsession, writing and brevity don’t really go hand in hand do they?
Perhaps that’s where Planet Ivy will come in. They have a limit of 300 or 400 words. Fark. Seriously, faaark!! Asking me to write 300 words is like asking Nigella Lawson not to use the phrase “luscious golden tangles” for a couple of episodes. It’s just not natural. But I’ll try, and as they have asked that we self publicise our Planet Ivy stuff on our blogs, you’ll be able to see how I go. The challenge won’t just be the word limit, it’ll be having to write what someone else wants me to write, about someone else and in a time limit they set. There’s way too many “someone else’s” in that scenario for my liking, so it’ll be an interesting torture process, but at least it will be someone else doing the cutting.
We’ll see Donkey. We’ll see.