I find it incredibly hard to believe that I’ve never written up a full accounting of why I started blogging, but nothing comes up in a cursory glance of my archives, so if I did, it’s hidden somewhere I don’t remember/I’m too lazy to do a thorough search.
I started reading blogs many years before I started my own. I had a kind of joke of a “blog” on Myspace back in the day (ahahahaha. Oh, Myspace), but even I didn’t kid myself that it was a REAL blog, because 1)Myspace and 2) what on EARTH would I ever write about and why on EARTH would anyone ever care?
Then we moved to San Diego, and several things happened that led me to starting Ramble Ramble.
The first is that I had almost no social interaction. I was lonely, and had no one to really talk to except my husband. I had one friend in town, but that was IT. I didn’t socialize with my coworkers, I didn’t hang out with neighbors, and basically every thought in my head got said to my husband or just rattled around in my head until I was sick of my own (inner) voice.
The second is that I started getting into photography. You don’t see ANY evidence of this now, but I started wanting to take pictures as a creative outlet, and I had an impulse to share the pictures I wanted to take. I blame blogs for my sudden and powerful interest in all things photo related, and so it made a certain amount of sense to start a blog where I could share my attempts at photography. (And yes, those are still in my archives. They are…laughably amateurish, but I DID have fun).
The third thing, though, is the one that really pushed me over the edge. See, my husband had rented a studio in a gallery where we lived. Once a month, the gallery had an opening, and all the studios would be open, and it was this whole big art night. We’d set up the gallery with all the stuff he had for sale, and stuff he was working on, and then talk art for several hours. And I’d do the artist’s wife thing, and talk art and it was fun, mostly. Except.
Except when people would come up and start talking to me, and we’d be having a conversation, and they’d somehow end up saying “Oh, are you the artist?” And I’d say no. And you could watch their faces fall, and they would get quieter and drift away. I literally had people turn and leave the room in the middle of a conversation once they found out I wasn’t the artist.
Yeah. FUN TIMES.
Now look, that was probably only, 2-3 people out of 100-150 each night. And there are always people, everywhere, who are rude and don’t have social skills and whatnot. And most people would gladly gab with me for as long as I wanted to (and sometimes longer than that). But it was this very weird thing that started to happen of me wanting to scream from the middle of the gallery, “I HAVE VALID THINGS TO SAY EVEN THOUGH I AM NOT THE ARTIST DAMNIT!”
And I just got tired of not having anywhere to dump the random crap in my head besides my husband (who, really, doesn’t want to talk about TV or pop culture or girl stuff as much as I do), and feeling sort of invisible both in my day to day life and on these gallery weekends. So I kind of had the perfect storm of things happen, and suddenly I was just like BOOM, I want a blog.
And here we are.
Prompt from Bring Back the Words, Week 1.No tags for this post.