As of today, I have discovered blogging. Although I've been active on the internet for nearly four years and submersed in creative writing for a good five or six, I never thought blogging was very interesting or big to me. All I ever do is message, type on forums, or surf for the fun of it.
I mean, my life isn't all that interesting. If I was a celebrity, or perhaps someone distinguished, then maybe I would feel inclined to present my daily dose of two cents to the online world. But, as it stands, I'm quite lacking in he area of excitement, despite being rather active for the most part of my free time.
I really do dislike talking about myself. I have no clue why I'd ever need to unless asked some specific question. Personally, I believe that thinking yourself important enough to have their words be read by anyone and everyone boosts the ego but clouds the mind. You're no better than anyone else, so why should they be tasked with you when their own lives are probably very interesting already. People shouldn't be expected to take time out of their day to look at you and give you a pat on the back or a gold star merely for the fact that you wrote up a page or so of insignificant gibberish.
Still, I sit here at my desk under a dim, florescent bulb tucked inside the shell of a black lamp, fingers making tiny tak-tak-tak noises as the connect with the letter-engraved buttons along my chunky, old keyboard. I can see my reflection in the glass of a picture frame next to me, midst the glow of the bulging screen's eery white light, black circles below tired eyes clearly visible even with my bad sense of sight.
My parents have absolutely no idea I'm awake, you see. It's an hour past midnight here, I was in bed moments ago, but got a bit of an inexplicable urge to have my thoughts be known. As it is, I'm not exactly a fan of sleep, as I can't recall a single dream I've ever had, except once as a child- but that was only a quick nightmare.
I'm getting off-track here with my topics.. it's hard to focus when you've been awake for a solid twenty-four hours with only about four hours of sleep backing you up.
But, this is my first blog, so it won't be perfect. I never expect perfection; there's no such thing. If there was, life would be dull and boring, an unchallenging stroll without even a single hurtle to leap over or dodge around. Imperfection gives personality, personality is a part of life, and humans are life. Therefore, imperfection is in the face of everyone you meet, and that flaw is what gives a person their unique "soul", if you will. I am imperfection- hear me roar!
Or perhaps just hear we emit a terrified squeak as I duck for cover under my desk before my mother finds me awake without permission.
Sincerely wishing you best,
C.S. Reed
