bowing out

So it turns out I'm not of the blogging ilk. You don't have to act surprised. I've seen real blogs, in fact there are scores of blogs I enjoy daily, and mine is by far the runt, and perhaps handicapped to boot.

It's not enough to be verbose. I am reminded everyday, many times, that my writing is sub-par, and let me just be frank.: Trying to write after reading one of Adam's essays is like having to heat up fish sticks the night after Wolfgang Puck cooked you dinner. I also lack the technical prowess to keep my blog groomed and show-worthy like the others I admire. While some blogs feature type and pictures in coordinating colors, mine offers a scheme-less array of mismatched imagery that I may have picked up at a yard sale.

If blogs were lawns, mine would have plywood stacked atop cinder blocks, a broken-down Chevy Nova, and maybe that wet couch I lifted from B's neighbor. It really lacks an aesthetic, and that fact assaults me every time I log in.

Furthermore, I am always simultaneously winded trying to keep up, and acutely aware that my prolificacy, or lack thereof, is wholly irrelevant.

Since I can't afford to have my blog landscaped, and since having someone write for me defeats the whole purpose (and since the two people I would hire already have beautiful, shiny, well-written blogs of their own), I'm letting it go to seed. Maybe a thousand years from now when my life is my own and I can learn me some technological skills, or maybe when Adam's laptop breaks and the bar isn't so goddamned high, I will try again. But for now, I'm tapping out.