I’m worried that I’m boring.

I’m coming up on my thirtieth birthday, it’s a Saturday night, and yes, I’m in a bar, but what am I doing? Sitting in front of a laptop. Blue light reflecting off my face, tucked back in the corner of the bar, drink on one hand, empty pack of smokes on my right, and I’m worried that I’m boring.

Lost my edge.

Vanilla.

My friends are at a different bar nearby. But they don’t have wireless internet. My subscribers are dropping. I am being very sure right now that this is because I have become….boring.

I read other writers, and they are so good, so goddamned good, and I wish I wrote like that, you know? Where you’re sucked in from the first word till the very last and you don’t even notice the words in between because they make such a vivid picture in your mind that it’s like watching a movie, not reading a blog.

I wrote one really good series of  blogs. And it’s like my inspiration is gone. Gone! I want to be more interesting, compelling, more…vivid. Maybe it’s that there is so little drama in my life right now, there’s nothing to blog about except sticky sweet romantic crap that would leave you all gagging onto your keyboards. I mean, really.

There’s a lot of stuff that crosses my mind that I would blog about, but when I sit down in front of the computer, I write like one sentence and it seems to me that that one sentence sums up my thoughts on the matter so well that additional words are unnecessary. And who wants to click on a blog link to read just one sentence? I would feel guilty.

I have a talent for being either really really wordy, or being able to summarize pages of blog into one or two sentences. Lately the wordiness is just wordy, and not interesting. It seems to me. People say “write what you want.” I know, I know. And I do. It’s just not very interesting, even to me.

I dunno.

Everytime I think that, I end up blogging something pretty cool, and I just had a conversation that is definitely blog material that I think will be pretty interesting.

Blech.