It’s been a few weeks, have you missed me?
Judging by the site stats, you haven’t. I know this because nobody has been to the site outside of what looks like a few bots, and that’s totally fine. I wish that I could say that I’ve missed writing, but I haven’t. Instead, it’s been a source of dread and anxiety for me. This is the Bugg Blog! This is my Big Professional Site™ that is supposed to showcase my skills! That was the theory, at least. Instead it’s turned into something that has showcased what I’ve been battling for a while, an outward feeling that I need to re-define myself mixed with an inward feeling of uncertainty. So that’s why I’m here writing this today.
For the last few years my main edict with writing has been to avoid the personal stuff, and try to find a topic. It hasn’t really worked that well for me. My work suffered at my old job because I spent a lot of the time trying to be a Professional Writer instead of just trying to be me (note the use of capitalization in that sentence, I think that means something).
The point is that I don’t know if I want to hitch my ride or whatever to being a Professional Writer or even a Person on the Internet with Opinions About Music that You, the Reader Should Consider. I’m not that. There are a million of those types out there and those folks are probably much better at doing that sort of thing than I am. Instead, I’m the only person who is me. Maybe that means that I won’t make any money writing, but I’m using this time to get used to that idea. I’m trying to get used to a lot of things right now.
I’ve had a rough go of things lately. It’s not been easy. I got cocky with my lifestyle and ended up cheating on my diet regimen (mostly because of my success with exercise), because of this my health suffered. To say “suffered” I don’t mean hospital stays or anything dramatic like that. Instead I mean a buildup of Uric Acid in my big toe. It’s called gout by most people. I prefer to call it Shame Foot because that is the best way to describe it. I haven’t really been in good health for over a week now, and I’m just now feeling somewhat normal.
I was miserable, a prisoner of my own lack of mobility and unable to really do much. A few nights ago the mental stress of not being better erupted. In what felt like a normal conversation after an innocent question from her about my writing I told my wife that the part of me that writes is dead. I don’t believe that. Instead I believe the part of me that thought I was going to make a living doing this is long gone. Now I just need to stoke whatever fire is inside of me that allows me to write for just myself.
It’s going to be a process, and since I’m not really sharing these posts with anyone just yet, I’m not sure if anyone will know or care but me. I’m determined to get back to a happy, anxiety-free place with writing. Even if the subject matter is mundane, I want to document what I do. It’s important for me, for some reason.
The first step is admitting there’s a problem. Maybe the second step will reveal itself to me soon enough.