Complex and rhythmic

The internet makes me feel bad about myself.  Well, okay,  I guess I make me feel bad about myself, but the internet is not helping.  Basically, I spend hours pouring over "inspiration" only to leave the internet, take a look at myself and my surroundings, and feel wholly unsatisfied.  Even writing this post, a whopping three sentences in, is embarrassing and humiliating and disappointing.  As I struggle to find the words to express my personal discontent, I imagine other bloggers (not that I'm a blogger - doing a thing twice does not merit the -er) sitting down to their laptops and hastily pounding away, knowing exactly what to say.  


Herein lies the main source of my discontent.  I'm assuming that the material put forward on the internet is not a painfully crafted, tirelessly edited version of what that person started with.  I'm assuming that other people are not challenged by writing, sharing, photographing, or creating.  And I'm totally wrong.  If all these inspirational blogs, sites, interweb things I don't understand were totally effortless, then they wouldn't be worth sharing.  People share accomplishments.  


So, what do I do with this newly acquired awareness?  Where does this blog go?  What am I doing?  Okay, back up.  I have not posted for a month.  Because I'm a big wimp.  I get scared, and I don't do things.  Scared of what?  Everything.  I'm afraid of everything.  To be a smidge more precise, I'm afraid that my blog will be boring.  So boring that even I won't want to read it.   Also, I don't really know why I want to write a blog.  Part of me wants to use this as a way to motivate myself to do all the things I want to do - bake bread regularly, sew things, etc - and as forum for writing about those processes and possibly sharing some tips and tricks.  Another part of me wants to improve my writing.  A few months ago I stumbled across some emails that I had written a few months post-college, and wowza, they were good.  I was funny, and not just funny, I was genuinely witty and clever.  My sentence structures were varied, complex, and rhythmic.  I had a voice.  A clear resonating tone that I know still lurks deep within my age, drug, and law school addled brain.  (Quick note: law school ruined my writing.  RUINED.)


Okay, reader (you're out there, right), you may be wondering, as I sort of am now, what's the big problem?  It sounds like I've got it.  I'm going to write about stuff 'n' junk, developing a clear voice, while occasionally astounding the interwebs with my amazing bread baking skillz.  Okay, yeah, I can do this.  Maybe.  I must remember if it was easy, it wouldn't be worth doing.