Not that I make many mistakes, you see, of course.
Perfection is a grueling business. But I cope.
Nevertheless, I do adore the digital splendor of the ability to simply vanish, with the click of the mouse, all badly chosen or executed moves that inevitably cluster and compound making life a sickening miserable display of ineptitude.
In WordPress, my “publish” module looks like this:
If we could somehow magically imprint this panel and its illustrious options over the digital dashboard that shapes and forms out erratic lives.
So many times I would relish the choice of trashing my regrettable actions before they happened.
Much like a dismal blog post, life could be greatly improved with an “undo” option written into its master template.
Even though the panel shown above is available to help me vanquish bad posts to the abhorrent trash heap of blog history, I never take advantage of it. God only knows there have been some spectacularly forgettable posts in the time I’ve maintained this blog. I thought of this because yesterday was easily one of those days I would just as soon have not posted shit. For a variety of random and indecipherable (and embarrassing) reasons, I was not on top of my writing game; in fact, I was about far from my game as possible while still existing in this common reality. There is naturally the temptation to vainly trash the shitty post. Simply toss it into the digital bin of orphaned ideas and, in a fit of self-sacrificial altruism, spare the world some shockingly bad writing and philosophizing.
But I can’t bring myself to do such a thing.
Each word and sentence and paragraph I spew is precious, even if it is ugly and smells like rotten fish. Think of parents who insist on giving birth to and caring for a “special case” offspring.
My body of blogwork is precious. All of it! Even the shit. Dumping a post the day after (literally) is akin to a sleazy sort of cowardice and betrayal of my own sense of pride. My mind created this garbage, and I will live and die by it. It if sucks, so be it! Perhaps my mind was tired or fried from counting beans or pushing pencils. Maybe I was preoccupied with my pathetic lack of life. Maybe what I write ends up conveying absolutely nothing I intended. Maybe there are issues of “chemical cloudiness”, so to speak. There are many reasons a post sucks to high heaven. The bottom line is, as long as they are written in the sincerest state of diligence, I have nothing to be ashamed of. Disgusted, perhaps. Cringing, perhaps. Nauseated, definitely. If a post sucks, there’s always tomorrow to make up for the sense of crushing impotence.