fuck it

it’s my blog and i can write what i want.

for months, maybe even a year now, i have been agonizing over what to make this blog.  i was trying to make it into something that would make me “internet popular.” a place where a bunch of strangers would read what i write, agree or disagree, but be sure to leave a ton of comments. and that stressed me the fuck out.

i was worried who would read this (apparently about 12 people a week), what would my mother say, what if someone finally put the pieces together and realized i think and talk about my ex girlfriend a hell of a lot more than i’m comfortable with.  what if my brother realized his first instinct that i wasn’t exaclty straight was right and that i totally lied to him when he brought it up becuase sometimes i’m a pussy.  what if someone called me on my research, said something about my standard errors being too small or large (i never can remember) or just said i was flat out wrong.

what if they don’t like me?

to that, i say, who the fuck cares? why in the world do i care so much about what people think of what i write?  lord knows i talk enough shit in real life, i should be able to take some by now, right?

tonight i started reading bitch is the new black. i started ready to hate because she was talking shit about some of my friends in her “ruhbuhduh” chapter. i was ready to be all snarky and hate (hate hate hate) when i realized that’s some shit i would say (maybe even have said, meh). and as i read this book, all i can think is this chick does not give a fuck who she pisses off. she’s going for hers.  she has a published book and movie deal.  i have two raggedy articles and about 4 blogs that i don’t write on because i’m punking out worrying about strangers or people i don’t like.

what.
the.
fuck?

time to snap outta this shit and write. write for my life, huh CPC?

so here we go,
e.

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