It occurred to me sometime back. I hadn't updated my 'blog' in over two months. It is weird, surely, for someone who loves writing as much as I do to not post anything for that long a time?
I sat down, thinking maybe I should write on issues that are really pertinent, something that I care about. Or even something which makes a blog a 'blog'. Short, crisp posts about my life. But I was(and still am) certain that nobody wants to know that bit. So then I thought of writing about fashion. And cars. And bikes. And cellphones(Oooh, cellphones). And books! Basically, I wanted to write. Something. Anything. Or maybe not.
So why didn't I? Of course, I had to take examinations during this time. But then again, I was free for an entire month after. Why not then? Was it writer's block, that mysterious element that authors/poets use to justify their lack in churning out fabulous writer? Even as I type this, it sounds ludicrous to my own ears. Author/Poet/Writer and me? Hah! Wishful thinking.
Maybe I was afraid of being judged. People seeing what I write, scoffing, and then very blatantly lying to me, "Oh, you do write well. I love your piece." Is that what I fear secretly? Of being judged? But I thought I was below all this! That I was too unimportant to matter. Am I secretly a narcissist? Oh God, that's it. I am a dark, brooding narcissist. Look at me go on and on about myself.
Or, maybe, just maybe, I am simply lazy. Yeah, that's instantly better! I am lazy, not a snob. Talk about lesser of the two evils.