It’s been quite some time since last I wrote. It’s also been some time since I last even recorded a podcast for that matter. I’ve been half-assing both in such a manner that I’ve lost all motivation to do either. I figured there are people that are much better at both and what could I possibly contribute to the ether that would be worth reading or listening to?
Nonetheless, here I am back again. I can’t shake the scratch. I’ve done a lot of reading, listening and watching media content that, in my opinion, I don’t ever see myself ever being able to produce with my meager skills. Despite that realization I’m still compelled to connect some words together in a stream of conscious manner and post to the very same ether that has all this great quality of content.
Part of the reason is psychological. It gives me some kind of purpose in life. It also helps me combat the loneliness and boredom that I’m faced on my days off. I’m 2 years or more single at this point. I only have human interaction while at work and when I’m off from work I escape into the world of fiction via media content. For a good long while this was a good solution. I was at peace. Life was good. But as the time has gone by, I’ve started to feel incomplete and lacking something.
Anyway, so here I am typing my current feelings and converting them into text form. I’m currently not at my place of residence and don’t have access to my mic so this seemed the simplest option between blogging and podcasting. Truthfully though, if I’m being honest with myself, I would probably still choose this option.
The few months that I started podcasting again, I realized that I just don’t have the chops for it. It was more of a curiosity and an idle hobby than anything I would consistently do. Once I hit a roadblock and went on hiatus it just became harder to get back to it as the weeks went by.
Also with writing, I can erase any hiccups I initially put down. I can edit down my drafts with quicker ease than I would ever be able do with audio. Uhms, like you knows and other disfluencies don’t exist in the written form unless you intentionally leave them in.
So here we are, about 400 words in now and I’m feeling more at ease and better. This has been therapeutic after all. I’m sure there will be more random stream of conscious blather making its way on here some time soon. As this itch to do something, however inconsequential, will persist in the recesses of my being. Until the next urge.