So, a quick auto-update later and we’re running WordPress 4.2. It’s nothing drastic, but more a robust set of refinements, mostly for the sharing of content from the web and Twitter directly to your blog posts.
Generally, I’m not big on sharing links, and articles, pictures of adorable kitties with traches, Facebook has never been my bag. I started the blog, particularly this iteration, with the idea of mainly posting original content. I’m doing a really shit job of it, but original content is the idea… I’ve gotten into this pattern of vowing to do better, then failing. Vow fail vow fail vow fail. It’s frustrating. I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated in so many ways.
Anyway, let’s make one potentially final grand vow… I’m going to post every single day until June 1, but if I fail, I delete the blog. I’m not vowing quality, mind you, just quantity. I’ve said it before, I think that if you’re a writer, and you’re confidant that you do know the craft, quality can be a natural progression of quantity. At any rate, I’ve never backed-up the blog, and I won’t back-up. It’ll just be… gone.
After June 1, if we get there, I’ll re-evaluate the situation.3 comments
So, for the first time, I seriously dug into this template’s CSS, and I think I did okay. I changed the blog’s font to the one I use for a lot of my tattoos, Eager Naturalist, then I adjusted its sizes to make things readable. I don’t think Eager Naturalist looks good if it’s too small. I also finally wiped all traces of Italian from our comments form. I think the blog feels more… hand-written now, like a paper journal. I use Eager Naturalist for my e-mail too. Oh, and I aligned my posts left, rather than justified.
Do we like the way this feels, or should I go with a more traditional look?2 comments
So, I heard one too many times that my blog’s new template looked very “Tumblr.” I don’t have my own domain name to have my crazy project, this evolving memoir of mine, looking like a Tumblr site. I mean, I know the blog isn’t anything good now, not for a decent while, really, but still… it’s mine, my project. I’ve put years into this place, it’s mine. It’s not nothing, it’s something. At least, to me it’s something.
I’ll try changing this template, the parts that don’t work. The Italian comments and what-not.3 comments
Tomorrow, I’ll post something not awful tomorrow. My head just isn’t here, not that it’s ever totally here, but it’s less than enough here to write anything that’s worth anything. Not that anything I write is worth much.No comments
I don’t know what to write just now, I don’t think I have anything interesting in my head. Sometimes if I just start writing, something interesting spills out, but I don’t see that happening tonight. I’m not feeling very dynamic.
I went to the mall, picked up some shirts at Express, one blood-red that’s a little shiny. I’m a big fan of shiny shirts.
I don’t know, my head’s somewhere else.1 comment
So, I get these ideas, just weird, maybe a little eccentric, ideas. Like, a few years ago I decided to try to see every After Dark Horrorfest horror movie, in the theater. I made it to seven of the eight. Then, a few weeks ago, the gun range thing. I don’t know, I guess I like creating a to-do, then doing it. I do things especially when the rest of my life feels out of my control, I grab at something I can control, I get a thing or do a thing, just to show myself that part of me still alive. It’s, I don’t know. I suddenly don’t feel like writing more.
Anyways, we baked a cake today. Lauren (my assistant) and my friend, Dani, did the baking, while I took a more supervisory role. It was fun, and created something.
It looks like Dani’s interrogating Lauren for some kind of cake-related felony…
We did a yellow cake with vanilla icing, topped with fresh strawberries. It came out really pretty, which is everything one wants. We all just want something pretty.
I’m too screwed up, and nervous, and lost, and alone right now. I’m so lost, so alone. I can’t think straight or write straight, or DO ANYTHING. I knew it’s all my fault, I accept that, no other way to see it. I’m a worthless waste. I ruin everything.
I won’t be writing.No comments
I’m scared because I, this could be some really pretty, sweeping narrative. I have the skill, I know my craft well enough to paint this picture of scared and lonely, but fuck it. I don’t feel pretty inside, I don’t have any pretty words to bleed, even if I cut both wrists wide open. She won’t say, “I love you! Come back to me,” so I’m scared. The drugs will hit me, and I’ll get sleepy, and nothing will feel beautiful, and maybe I won’t find my way back.No comments