I don’t expect anyone to have read my entire blog. It’s too much. But if someone can’t even be bothered to check it out, then that person doesn’t really want to talk to me and I wouldn’t want to talk to someone who doesn’t want to talk to me. If someone does want to talk to me, there’s no reason not to read my blog. What is there to be afraid of? It’s too thought out? Would they be more comfortable with dumbed down conversation? This is all just a pointless rant though because it’s a pretty obvious point I’m making. Ironically, reading my blog can replace the need to talk to me because you’ll pretty much already know everything that’s happening with me.
This reminds me of why I began blogging in the first place. I had originally intended it to be autobiographical and document my entire life. By the time I finished writing and reflecting my life, if it doesn’t make me want to live, then I guess I wouldn’t have much reason to live. At that point, it would serve as a suicidal note for people to read if they question my motives. I would expect most people to not bother reading it or not read the whole thing and it would prove that my life isn’t even worth a few hours of their time.
Well that was depressing. I probably shouldn’t even bother posting this but I’m gonna do it anyway. Let me see if I can end it with a joke to lighten the mood a little: Being depressed is rarely a good thing. The only time I find it useful is when I’m around an annoyingly cheerful person and I watch them awkwardly react to my apathetic ways.