Ramble Ramble

Perhaps I will eventually become a consistent blogger one of these days... for I always claim I will be and then reveal myself time after time as a fraud, but let us try once more shall we? Unfortunately, this is a blog just to blog since there is (well, in reality way too much on my mind but for conservation of time and virtual space I will claim...) nothing on my mind. I will just have to pull something out of no where now to at least make this post seem semi-worthy of being called anything other than shit. I have started writing again, which always ends up depressing me because, kind of like everything else, you know you are not terrible at it, but you know there are thousands... millions... out there that are better than you, and it kind of disappoints you. Now granted, if we just use people that you know, and for argument sakes let us use the amount of friends you have on Facebook, you can kind of appropriately gauge yourself with an accurate number... and furthermore it can actually give you a confidence boost if, let us say, you are actually the best out of the 300 (arbitrary number) friends you have on Facebook. So, yeah, sweet that makes you feel good. But then we have to consider that almost everything in life is subjective and that you are now just atop the list of 300 people in only your mind. However, someone else with the exact same friend's list as you (perhaps a you from another dimension), might have placed you at position number 4, 18, or 210. So then, pray tell, why am I even stressed out to begin with over the perfection of writing? The simple answer is to obviously appease myself, for I am not going to be happy if my own work is shit. However, as an author I am writing these things in the public eye and for more than just self-approval. Thus, my fears are more than just the fear that it is shit to me, but rather shit to others as well. So now I am worried once more that the reason I become disappointed in my writing is the fact that others will deem it nothing more than peasantry. Yet, I am constantly reminded that my opinion of myself is the most important. Yet, being "the toughest critic" of them all (so they say, I always thought I was easy on myself), I am still disappointed. I guess there does not need to be a definitive reason for anything anymore. Perhaps things are what they are because they are, and we do things because we do them. And that, fellow readers, is how you ramble enough to fill up space in a blog.