I’m extremely exhausted lately. Like, seven years or so. Eight maybe. This year feels too much so, for some reason. I’m barely surviving, and I have no idea what is in my power to do something about it. Anything. I don’t know, truly. I need help, which is nowhere to get.
Hence, I’m having no resources even for this blog. Which I thought would be the easiest of all that I have. Write a few words, why won’t you, right? The entire publishing stack is automated. It’s for local version, for global internet version, I need to press just one button. Which I have no power to press. I don’t even have any headspace to read anything.
Yet, I have just read The Internet Doesn’t Want Readers. It Wants Livestock. And I decided I like it enough to write a few words about it.
Just a bloke, typing, hoping someone reads it because they wanted to, not because a pop-up cornered them into it.
That’s all my blogs, actually. Never tried being popular (well I was, but I never tried). And not that I mean effort, rather the intention.
I write because it helps me get better.
And I’m unwell most of my life. But that’s another story. I’m not complaining, could have been much worse. I’m extremely lucky, to the point I think it may end at some point, the luck. It’s just that I’m too tired most of my adult life, and it’s just too much lately.