One of my least endearing, most frustrating, self loathing-inducing characteristics is that I’m a procrastinator. Personally, professionally or otherwise you can rest assured that if I’m not jazzed about doing it, I’ll find a way to compartmentalize, push aside, forget about or generally move a project into a “to do; later” bucket.

Blogging, for me, is different.

I sometimes bank multiple posts in advance.
I don’t ever find it a chore.
And even though I sometimes stress about meeting my own standards for quality, length and output (once a weekday), I’m not going to lose any sleep or hair over it.

It’s only blogging.

For me blogging is, and always will be, a nice slice of escapism, narcissism and punditry rolled up into just another tab on my browser. It’s always there, but it’s always just a click away from being clicked away.

Which is not to say that I view the blog or it’s contents as ephemeral and unimportant, just the act of blogging itself isn’t something I place on a pedestal or revere just because. It’s something I do that fills a need for me. Cathartic or not, I usually write and feel better. You do the math.

Anyhow, right now I’m writing because I don’t want to finish one particular work project (I’m tired from Callaway Gardens yesterday), because I don’t want to work out (self loathing over a poor snack choice) and because I can.

See you tomorrow!

BONUS LINK: How to write like a blogger. For those of you who want to know how to do this, or why, or when or how often or yadda yadda yadda.

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