Do those of you who blog ever surf the blogosphere and come away infinitely depressed? So it is with me at the moment as I've spent the last hour or so strictly reading gardening blogs.
Now, there is nothing wrong with gardening blogs. In fact, the ones I read rocked my little green-thumbed world! I have no major beef (I'm not even going there...this is serious time, y'all) with gardening blogs or, for that matter, craft blogs or sex blogs or political blogs or mommyblogs or fashion blogs or blogs about people's fitness and diet routines.
It's ME I have the beef with; who the hell is rosalicious?
Let me rephrase that:
What the fuck is this blog about?
People ask me that. All the time. Oh, I just write shit about me. Like a diary, they ask? Um, no, not really. Which is the truth - nobody who reads rosalicious is even remotely privvy to anything diary-worthy.
I'm guess I'm kinda feeling a little bummed and insecure right now. Do I need a niche? Will it make my blog better? Does it matter? What's in it for me? Anything? God who chills up in heaven, is this blog even any good?
IS THIS BLOG JUST A BUNCH OF RIDICULOUS-SOUNDING BULLSHIT?!?
(To some of you, probably. But I am not here to please. And wow, just like that, I answered my question!)
There is a blog for fucking EVERYTHING. And here I dance on the sidelines of all of them - I sew, I garden, I run, I've been known to cook up some good shit, I can get naughty in the sack with the best of them, I'm die-hard pro-choice, I also love owning a dog, bad fashion is good fodder for me too, I can spel reall gud....
Blogger of many, master of none. Well, that's me. And people don't like things that can't be defined. I can't be defined. I don't fit in. I feel so woefully inadequate at the moment. Woe is me, full of woe. My blog is in crisis. It thinks it needs a dirty vodka martini with extra olives to drown its sorrows in.
(And no, contrary to popular belief, it doesn't want to be a drinking blog. But thanks for the suggestion.)