drab

I really don’t think that I should be a writer. I’m not saying that to be coy or seek comfort or validation. There is no one even here to seek comfort from. Nobody reads this blog, remember? And, when I write that, I’m being honest. There are no visitors to this blog at all.

I’m only here because every single day - without fail - I think about how I did not write. I’m bitter not because I don’t write but because I feel compelled to do so. I absolutely cannot stand it. I find it to be madness. I gauge my days based on how content I can make myself on how I am definitely not a writer nor should I attempt to become one. I find this all perfectly reasonable. So, can someone please explain why I am so goddamn miserable about it and writing on this blog to no one?

I do not understand it and I’m ashamed to admit to any of this even though it is all quite simple because it is so unabashedly lame to say that I’m compelled to write even though I cannot stand writers. I don’t like the word “writer.” I don’t like how writers have conferences and talk about dreadful books and their spiritual connection to hard-bound copies. Gosh. I don’t even like hard copies of books. Way too heavy and bulky. I cannot imagine sitting down to actually read a hard copy book. Frankly, most books bore me so much.

I also cannot stand how writers quote other writers. It makes me cringe so hard. I don’t like terms like “the work,” “the craft,” or “the process.” Those are totally normal words that suddenly become ambiguous and creepy when writers say them.

I also feel like all writers wear sweaters and it annoys me. I know this generalization is way off and, yet, somehow it feels accurate. I can just imagine a bunch of writers in chunky sweaters sitting by an electric fireplace and musing about the process. I almost twitched even writing that down. I cannot stand it! There’s nothing wrong with it, I guess. I don’t know why it bugs the hell out of me anyway.

I don’t want to wear sweaters and talk about metaphors from young adult fiction. I didn’t even like young adult fiction when I was the target demographic. I see so much writing that is more astute and better edited than mine, but I somehow find it incredibly boring. I don’t know how I can consider so much writing objectively superior to mine and also somehow find it dull. I feel like that says something awfully negative about me.

There are so many cultural references and works of art that I just find boring. I don’t even think they are bad or inadequate. I just find them boring. I don’t have full critiques or takedowns. I don’t need them to disappear. I just can’t stand pretending to like any of it.

I find most paintings bland. I don’t know why! I cannot paint. I don’t know how to paint. I find it impressive that people paint, especially when people paint well. Yet, I can go to a fine museum and look at the landscapes and the biblical scenes and think about how difficult it must have been to paint those technically rigorous masterpieces. Secretly though, I’m wondering about lunch and whether the food court will be halfway decent. In the face of masterful art, I ponder about ham and cheese sandwiches? What does that say about me? I find it all so embarrassing as I don’t even like ham.

What further confounds me is that I do not consider my writing to be objectively of high quality. I do truly believe that all the writing that makes me yawn is far superior in quality. Yet, I cannot seem to make myself care. I’m awfully good at pretending to care and about making acceptable observations about art topics, but it all feels like performance art to me.

Why don’t I like and admire what I’m expected to like and admire? I know there’s an obvious argument here, which is that Western art and the English language are not beautiful to everyone. Obviously, there are different cultures with their own ideas about beauty, creativity, and artistic expression. However, I am Westerner from a family of Westerners who all speak English. This is my culture! I’m supposed to like this! I’m supposed to gravitate towards it through some combination of nature and indoctrination. Why am I so bored by it?