Post-Awesome-Blogpost Disorder: A Medical Definition...ish

If there’s one thing that I absolutely love, it’s blogging.  There’s something about sharing my deepest, darkest, personal thoughts to an anonymous crowd at various locations throughout the world, some of which you don’t even know personally that just really speaks to me.  I really enjoy the atmosphere that most blogs bring.  That being said, I have some bad news.

I’m quitting.

HAHAHAHAHAHA kidding. Had you going there, didn’t I?  Wait, you weren’t concerned?  You wouldn’t have even bothered with a goodbye?  Gee, thanks.

But I do have some pretty bad news.  That news is that I made you visit my page, despite the fact that I do not have a story, list of dumb reasons for something, or even a little comic to show you.  Nope.  I have none of those things.  What I do have is a confession.

I have a bad case of the Post-Awesome Blogpost Disorder.  I promise you that it is a real disease.

It all starts with an idea.  I get a really good idea in my head that I find really exciting, or that I know people will like to hear about it.  The topic formulates in my head for a few days or so, then I decide TO TYPE THIS MOTHER OUT.

I’m not sure why I said “mother,” as it refers to a terrible, profane word that usually follows mother, and I’m also making a mental resolution to swear less in my posts.

You know, Growls by Sprouls, where we talk about poop, sex jokes, the Holocaust, and all other wonderful adulty things, but let’s just make it a bit more family friendly.

On a side note, “Adulty” was a complete typo, but it seems just like the quirky word that will belong in a post like this.  Quirky.  Like Zooey Deschaneldughsldfghawle or however you spell her last name.  I think it’s close.

I just cross-referenced my spelling of her name.  I’m a little off.

But yeah, I get the idea in my head, and I finally sit down and start writing it all down.  And it just snowballs from there.  The jokes work, the atmosphere is there, and the pictures just add to the hilarity.  Then I post it, and it’s awesome.

A perfect example of this is my last post, introducing douchebagdarrel.net.  I am incredibly proud of myself for making this post.  But every time I post a post at a high level of quality, this strange thing happens.

At first, I sit back, smug.  I have just composed a beautiful piece of internet literature, and I sit back and refresh my dashboard, watching the views roll in.

All ten of them.

And as I sit, content with the beauty of my blog post, a sudden gnawing in my stomach starts to grow, and within a couple days, I can deny its presence no more.

I may not have no way to follow it up.

First up comes the denial.  Immediately, I pull up a word document and sit at my MacBook, eyes wide in a frenzy only bloggers, regular writers, or, let’s be honest here, pretty much anybody can relate to, trying to come up with something truly wonderful to try and top the last post.

SPOILER ALERT:  IT NEVER DOES.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t try.  I surf the web for inspiration.  I start with Facebook, but amidst, depressing statuses, Tumblr reposts, the same goddamn joke from Reddit, people complaining that it was the same goddamn joke from Reddit, and an average IQ of -34, I can’t really get a lot of intriguing topic material.  I mean, I already did a Facebook rant, and it’s HERE, if you’re interested.  It’s even one of those un-wonderful 2011 posts!  Feel special.

So I try to Google topics to blog about.  I found a neat website that said it had 101 things to blog about.

There weren’t even 20.

So I found a different list.  It actually had a lot of ideas.  For example, one was how to explain my usage of Pinterest! 

Now I just need to get a Pinterest.

Also, I found out that apparently, only actual writers are people who write blogs.  Guess that means I should get to work on the next great American novel.

By this time, however, I have moved to stage two of PABD.  Forced Insomnia.  See, I read somewhere that authors should write drunk and edit sober.  As I have three yet to even grow decent facial hair, let alone actually be able to consider purchasing alcohol, I have to resort to other methods of becoming insane.

In moments of extreme need of insane sparks of creative genius, I will resort to watching this instead.

I’m sure you have now had a brilliant idea for a blog post now.

Or, if you’re like me, it didn’t help whatsoever, and you find yourself sitting in front of your laptop, questioning why you spent the last half hour watching 90s children's programming destroyed by modern internet culture, and still without a decent idea for a blog post.

And so sets in stage three.  “Rationalization.”  This part is in quotations because I associate rational thought with the concept of “If I just think random thoughts, it will make a totally solid blog post.”

The inside of my mind is a horrible, horrible place.  It kind of looks like my twitter feed, only with even less of a logic-filter.  Which is saying a lot.

Next comes stage four.  The cry inside as I look at pictures on the internet that are a million times funnier than I will ever be, which is especially sad, as funny on the internet is this:

Giraffic Park.  And thanks to stage two and long nights of staying awake, I actually find this kind of stuff funny.

This doesn’t really need that much explanation.

And finally, I reach stage five.  The screwitall stage.  The stage where I pull a post entirely out of my ass and try to post it as an actual attempt at intelligent commentary, or even a coherent blog post.

Which is totally not what you just read right now.

No.

Not at all.

Please don’t hate me.