Do you ever find that the longer you neglect something, the higher your expectations get for your first return to it? You don’t clean your bathroom for a few weeks, for instance, you know it’s really not worth doing at all until you have time to get all the soap scum up. You ask for an extension on a paper, that paper better be more eloquent and well-worded—practically publishable, really—than it would have been had you turned it in on time. You don’t have time to read a novel for six months, so you know you must deliberate for weeks over which one to pick for your time off over Christmas break. And it’s even worse with habits you are still only trying to form. For instance, if you start a blog, post enthusiastically for a couple of days, and then find your inner store of words (or photos, as it were) totally dried up, you better have something really witty and original to post when you return, something so profound that you clearly had been pondering it for your full four-day absence, struggling over each word, sweating out draft after draft.
After all, who really wants to read what I’ve written about how little I have to write about? [You do. I know you do.]
If only to ward off the certain Rise of Expectations were I to post nothing, and in anticipation of many more Worthless Posts to come, I remain yours,
if-you-can’t-do-things-well-at-least-do-them-Halfway in Hudsonville