Don't worry, be...

I am a happy person. Not quite kittens pooping rainbows happy, but happy. Or, that’s what I happily thought as I happily re-read my posts from the last, dunno, when I started posting. And fricken hell am I one whiny twat. I like ranting it seems. And it’s not even that I’m like that all day long.

It’s the internet’s fault. And blogging. And probably my own misanthropy. The fact that the internet is so delightfully powerful is daunting, and I think it’s probably a case of not wanting to be just another nitwit posting shit that doesn’t do anything to make the world a little more bearable. I have massive respect for what the web is, and what it could be, and I didn't want to do it an injustice by putting up incoherent scribbles. It was a noble goal, I guess, but every stupid cliché has a counter cliché and in trying my best to sidestep the hipster blogger mentality, I pretty much just tripped and fell straight into the arrogant and overbearingly opinionated pit. Well played brain. I’m not one of the violent acres or the radical bacon's, or even a Maddox, regardless of how angry or vengeful I’d like myself to be. And regardless of how much I enjoy reading someone who is honestly upset over something and retells it in an entertainingly rancorous way; I clearly don’t get angry often enough to justify that level of benevolence. The irony of the blog title combined with the posts is starting to dawn on me.

Why would I spend weeks painstakingly fretting over lame little design choices and then spend two or three hours grammar and spell checking my articles, only to be mildly unfulfilled and still pissed off? I shall call it: 
Blag-rage (n):
The anger that arises after being given a voice, and then not having as much to say as you think you should.
Let’s face facts. Sometimes life sucks balls, and you get over it. And sometimes it really sucks balls, and you’ll get over that too. Life is a ride, as my friend reminded me today. Fact is, keeping a mindful eye on why I’m angry is keeping me down. All in the name of blogofuckknows, hell I even have this whole broodingly high contrast black and white post title picture thing going on, I clearly meant business. It’s time to rethink these little posts. I’ll leave the old ones up, like a yin-yang thing.

I really don’t expect this blog to make me money, or change lives, honestly all I wanted it to do was give me a higher res upload for my photos so I can share them with people who aren’t my friends on the book face, and maybe push the content a little further into the conceptual range. Oh, and help me remember things, I’m ludicrously forgetful about things that are important. I honestly forgot that I was flying to Sweden the day I was supposed to pack. I’d already made other plans. What I do remember is trivial crap, I can tell you that all the golf ball brands in the world make balls with even numbered dimples. Isn’t that cool? The only one that doesn’t, has 333 dimples. I recently spent a three tedious weeks diligently reading every single stupid, badly laid out and poorly designed fact on THIS WEBSITE. (It’s a trap, don’t do it.) I finally broke free when the power went out and all my tabs closed and I was too lazy to restore the previous session, good times.

The fact that unpleasantness is bountiful and half the people you will meet are dicks in their own right, does not mean that I should go home, painstakingly craft a nice little niche on the internet for my own happiness, and then promptly re-hash all the shit that makes me angry. Staying angry, or looking for reasons to rant about is more the purview of small minds. I broke up with an otherwise very really nice girl once because she was angry all the time. Funny how I let that anger slip into my life now, maybe she was a blogger too... Anger is shit.

Blogging is weird. It’s like the world is listening, or that’s what the little lizard voice in your head tells you. But you know it’s not true, check your google analytics, half those hits are you checking up on it. Besides, we post way more intense shit on big social media. But we THINK people are reading, and I know few people with a skin thick enough to truly not give a fuck and say what they want to. I know the only people that have read this are my friends in the office, a far more accomplished blogger lady in Sandton, one cool architect in Cape Town, some freaks in the UK and a very wise philanthropist in Australia… and probably one or two nut jobs in south east Asia. Hi guys, happy to have you! Sorry for the antipathy. There were a few hits from the eastern block and I can only assume that it's my supermodel future wife building up the confidence to send me a "Marry Me" email. The rest of the world? This blog uses words, and words are hard. So I’m guessing after the picture they just gave up.TLDR. My one picture post had 25 times the traffic of my home page... sigh.

I like to think, a lot, like a lot alot. And there’s nothing really wrong with that. One day the internet was down for 8 hours at work and I started getting so fidgety I went scrounging for some old magazines in the corner just so I could have something to read. If I don’t have at least one interesting tab to gaze at while I’m rendering or actively wasting company time – hell, then I’m not living. I just need to funnel that into something a little better than thinking of clever adjectives to describe things that most people I am friends with already agree to be asinine. As for the rest of it? We can have violently passionate rants about the economy/religion/Voldemort and superman when we go drinking, like everyone else. 

Haha, it feels like a right of passage into the blogosphere to blatantly fuck up, let’s just hope there’s a lesson in here somewhere.

Cool. Colon closed bracket, bitches.

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