1. Outstanding pay
2. The jealousy of all your friends (who have been meaning to write, but haven't got around to it yet).
3. Dealing with internet lice (website spam from developing & third world nations).
4. Offending people who will never have the moxie to verbalize it (but who secretly judge you now).
5. Being so honest (in a one-sided relationship), that people feel like they now know you intimately.
|Swan diving into my own gold coin collection has added|
to my delusions of grandeur.
Some of these aforementioned points create strains on the blogger's real world relationships (when we take a break from swimming in our McDuck-ian money bins to commiserate with the plebeians).
Allow me to elaborate.
The other day I was talking to co-workers about a student who has plans on becoming a teacher. I pointed out that the student is going to have to give up her "God-complex" of superiority before she would truly be effective, when another co-worker blurt interjected, "Just like you do, Chris."
I held back the urge to smite, and played it off like a joke, when it clearly wasn't. I went home and self-reflected. Do I really have a God-complex?
From Wikipedia: A god complex is an unshakable belief characterized by consistently inflated feelings of personal ability, privilege, or infallibility. A person with a god complex may refuse to admit the possibility of their error or failure, even in the face of complex or intractable problems or difficult or impossible tasks, or may regard their personal opinions as unquestionably correct.The individual may disregard the rules of society and require special consideration or privileges.Ouch. In other words, I'm a know-it-all asshole.
Some people are okay with that label. I'm not. I don't want to be God, but I do want to do his business. Being an arrogant prick isn't going to help either of our images.
Part of reason I think this person verbally vomited on me (my go-to phrase when somebody lashes out in words), is because she has access to this blog. She has read, and maybe misinterpreted my humor; took my temporal opinions as my life philosophies; caught some grammatical errors and interpreted it as ineptitude; etc.
In other words, I, a guy who doesn't like over-thinking sentiment was jumping to conclusions.
|I've been blogging so long, I think I've used this image before.|
Thankfully, my divine rationality returned, and I was able to let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Can't hold it back anymore... (Dang you Frozen for being released on DVD today!).
Blogging is so one sided, that even though I only reveal 80% of who I am on here (the rest is reserved for interpersonal reality), it is still so much more than most people ever divulge. I have stories to tell and I'm not afraid of my stories or my sordid past. They are a part of me, but they don't define me. I'd like to think of myself as the Sun, always morphing, changing, growing, intensifying (God, I do have a God complex).
Anyway, my perceived openness inspired a younger fan to start a blog and share. Over-share. There was nothing wrong with this person's writing, other than he/she disclosed EVERYTHING. Personal things. Valuable things. Save some. Save some for yourself. I know the internet tells you that the key to being discovered is to expose yourself, but it's wrong. That's exploitation. The internet wants to use you. Disrobe you. Remember to keep yourself clothed. It reminds me of a quote about essays:
"A good essay should be like a woman's skirt: long enough to cover the subject and short enough to create interest,"--Winston Churchill
|Cats are sick, sick, people.|
So stop reading so much into what I write on here. This isn't reality, it's the internet. Besides, I'm only doing this blog for the money (and the God-like power).
And because this blog is all over the place and random, I would like to think it's because God has made me beautifully complex (rather than me having a God complex).
Psalm 139: 14-16: I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.