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Doodles – 1 more thing that I stopped doing. I hate being an adult!

I’m new to blogging. Initially I wanted to write short fiction pieces and I could pop those out like bread from a toaster but that was 20 years ago. Somewhere in the middle, my life was overrun by text books that sucked all the imagination out of me. They slowly and consistently remodeled my neuronal networks to fire signals only pertaining to extreme logic. I was looking forward to the time I would be able to just sit down, let my imagination run wild and write again but when I did, I drew a blank. It was like putting my hand in the cookie jar for the much anticipated chocolate chip goodness that I deserved after running off 500 calories only to realize someone had robbed me blind of one of the few things in life that ever brought me any real happiness!! My chocolate chip cookies aaargh!. It felt like losing a part of me and I hadn’t even realized when it happened.

I opened this WordPress account and waited months for inspiration to come. But something is definitely broken in my head. In desperation, I started reading other blogs and realized I didn’t have to write fiction. I could write anything. But what would that anything be?

My mind had been wired to make sure everything was always perfect – no room for error so everything I wrote had to have an introduction, body and conclusion. Every sentence had to be perfectly worded and placed. Every time I wrote something I revised, re-revised then re-re-revised until I had it almost memorized. Still I wasn’t happy. It was not perfect. Nothing was perfect. This world is not perfect. Why isn’t this world perfect? Why does my head feel like it’s about to explode?

My head feels like it’s about to explode because I was trying to do with my ย personal blog what I did with professional or academic papers – trying to make it perfect. It doesn’t have to be perfect. What makes this personal is my own set of imperfections – sort of my own brand. And what makes it worth having is being able to put thoughts here that are otherwise hard and sometimes impossible to express. They don’t have to be perfect. ย And so I started writing this piece. No specific thought. No introduction, body or conclusion, just a barrage of sentences about why blogging is hard for me. Also I’m hoping writing randomly without care will help get my imagination back. I really really hope.

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