As I write this, I'm engaged in a discussion over facebook chat over the merits of blogs, and an internal dialogue over whether to start one. It was a fortnight or so ago that, in a fit of self-esteem, I opened this thing and gave it a title, thinking the rest would take care of itself. It clearly did not, as the status of this as the first post reveals.
At this point (if I should be so bold as to assume that you exist, dear reader), we're both asking ourselves questions. I'm asking myself (and you) why on Earth a person would choose to read a blog by this chump. You're asking yourself a related question, with your fingers hovered over alt-tab, your cursor hovering on Firefox's little orange X on this tab, ready to stop at any second. You and this blog are on a first date, and it's dark enough in the cinema that you could simply walk out and I wouldn't notice.
Indeed, I just took a break from writing to continue the facebook discussion. Not because I want to seem nonchalant; a great deal of my self-worth is tied up in my online persona (SO'S YOURS, DON'T LIE), and if you have any love for me you'll compliment, encourage, hail this blog as a masterpiece and we'll all pretend I didn't just ask you to do it.
But really, I don't care one way or another. For if I do, I'm one of those people who thinks everything thought in their mind is publishable, and that my life is some compelling narrative in a way that distinguishes me from the masses. The friend on the other end of facebook thinks that my awareness of this fact in some way DOES distinguish me, and that my thoughts must be worth reading since I'm aware that they're not; I'm too tired to try to find the hole in that logic, though I'm certain I could find one.
But if there's anything less compelling than my thoughts, it's surely my digressions. The reason I don't mind you not reading this is that everyone's distracted. Right now i'm thinking harder about how funny the coffee cup balanced on my leg is jiggling as I type than I am about the content of the post; this fascination is to blame for the frequency of run-on sentences you'll find here as I'm desperately trying to find ways to make myself type longer, less thoughtful, more complicated strings to typ so that I can see what happens to my cup.
And a distraction pulls me away long enough to drink most of the coffee and ruin the effect, as if punishing me for my bad writing. I've gone completely off track once again, but then, as the title suggests, that's what happens when you're on The Internet. So get used to it, dear reader. Or don't get used to it, and don't be a reader.
Hey did you ever notice how it's hard to end a blog post without seeming like a tool?