Responsible blogs.

I wrote an essay this week about the relationship between freedom and responsibility in writing. I focussed on blogs because at the beginning they did, and to some extent still do, represent a completely free and democratic platform for and practice of writing. But I got stuck when I thought about the responsibility of blogs, what is it?

Is it now the responsibility of bloggers to keep themselves free from commercialisation, from advertisements and dominating corporations? Is there a responsibility to maintain that democracy and that freedom which was so exciting at the beginning (when I was a baby)?

Is there a responsibility to a readership to provide constantly interesting content like a magazine or a tabloid? Is there a responsibility to keep up the niche of the blog, to resist straying from a theme? Is there a responsibility to say something of use?

Or is the responsibility to keep writing no matter what? Sometimes it will be useful and insightful and beautiful, other times it will be nothing. But the writing is still there, the freedom is still there. No one has to read it, that's the beauty of it.

Blogging is golden, really. I believe that. And we are responsible for whatever it is, whatever it means, whatever we are sharing with the world. And responsibility is good, I think.

So boring.

Sometimes life is insufferably boring. Despite the entirely random possibility of my existence, despite my astonishing aliveness, I can still be bored.

Boring bits don't always seem to exist for other people, even though they almost definitely do. No one is bored in films or books because they skip the things that would be boring. You never actually see anyone in a TV drama brushing their teeth for exactly two minutes. I find cleaning my teeth boring and yet, often, once I have finished cleaning my teeth I have nothing else to do. At least brushing my teeth gave me something to do.

I often wonder if the celebrities I like to admire have also sat in a doctor's waiting room for 45 minutes, or if they have accidentally stared at their phone for for an entire hour refreshing the timeline every five minutes for one new tweet. And, despite being bored of this process, have managed to stay in the same position for so long their hair from the shower they never got dressed from has now dried into some greasy, knotty mess.

I wonder if other women spend whole boring hours of their life in compromising positions in the bathroom plucking hairs from places they can't even see. Whole hours. At least it makes the time pass. Sometimes time is so excruciatingly boring I want it to pass quickly.

And yet it is a miracle that I can even experience time passing. It is phenomenal that I have the ability or even the desire to brush my teeth and I dismiss it like it is nothing. Time is passing and it can pass as slowly as treacle dripping from a spoon and I am lucky enough to watch it happen.

It is random and wonderful, even, that I can feel boredom. I can feel everything! I can choose to give myself an activity, no matter how mundane, when I decide that time has become uninteresting.

Life is insufferably boring at times. Life is insufferable, even. But how wonderful is that? How bloody wonderful is that?

Worry.

Worry really grips your heart, doesn't it? Whether it be full-blown panic or the impossible idea that you might finish your dissertation you can be completely paralysed by it.

It takes a lot to overcome worry, to let it slip away, because that means an acceptance of the worst that could happen. But it also gives you the momentum to move forward.

I spend a lot of my life in the grips of worry, if you hadn't noticed. I can worry about everything and anything given half the chance. I can worry about symptoms of horrible diseases I definitely don't have, I can worry about my appearance, I can worry about the mess in my bedroom, I can worry about my family members getting into accidents every time they leave the house, I can worry that I'll die without finding a partner, I can worry that I am not good enough in literally any situation. I can worry, that's for sure.

Essentially I worry about everything that is beyond my control. Natural, I guess, but I often surpass the average person's capacity for worry. Sometimes I think I have actually gained a skill in worrying. I am so good at it.

But there is that moment when the thing I was worrying about happens, or it doesn't, or I eventually come back to reality as I release myself from that paralysing grip around my heart when I think "none of that was worth it, was it?". It is so exhausting to worry, it takes up all of your time. I am so physically tired out by it. Worrying is harmful. No one ever felt better after an afternoon spent worrying they weren't good enough for romantic love (for example).

And then I'll worry about worrying. I shouldn't worry so much! Stop worrying! You mustn't worry!

God, I'm so tired. I really must stop worrying.

Hold out your hand.

My mum keeps telling me to hold out my hand whenever I am scared or worried. I come to her to tell her that something is wrong, or that I am frightened, or that I am not believing in myself. She just says "hold out your hand and keep the thought there. Just hold it out from you and let it be."

I still have not held out my hand. The thoughts I have brought to her are still very much in my head, still making my chest tight, still making my whole body tense up. I am stubborn. I do not want to believe that I can push the thought away. Sometimes I cling onto the thought because it feels so real. If it is not real then all this energy is for nothing. If I do not worry then the thing I am worrying about will actually happen. I can't hold my hand out and let it be!

What I really want is for my mum to make the thoughts go away without me actually having to do anything. I want her to tell me everything will be fine and I want that to be true. I don't want to have to be in control of my thoughts because often it feels like they are happening to me and I can do nothing about it. But I am very much in control of those thoughts. If I were not in control, I would not be actively letting them continue in my head instead of holding out my hand and observing them, then letting them go.

I think that my worrying is a way for me to try and control what does and doesn't happen to me but really it does the opposite. If I was better at letting it all be I would definitely be happier. The constant tightness in my chest, the active listening to negative thoughts does not feel good.

But panicking and worrying are such powerful, overwhelming things. It is so hard to listen when your mum says hold your hand out. How ridiculous, that will never work. It does work though, doesn't it? I really must get better at listening to what she says.