Blogging Angst

Why do I blog? Behold, the facts:

• I am boring.  I struggle with everyday tensions and conflicts and joys.  It is good for me to write about them--to explore, to vent, to write down for posterity.  But I can't expect anyone else to be very interested.  Really.
• Blogging does not help my career in any way I can fathom, but for the need to vent.  
• Sometimes I like to get on my soapbox. 
• Sometimes I like to share something I've learned that helped me survive the publish or perish world or the parenting world--or both.

So, I blog to vent, get on my soapbox, share some news or lesson learned, figure something out through writing about it, or simply remember it later (usually kid-related).  I also like the virtual community and the mutual support that develops among bloggers--that is neat.  And I will try to write in a clear and engaging style for readers' sake.

But I will never make money, become even semi-famous, become a noticeably better parent, or get promoted from associate to full professor by blogging about it.  

I have to write this down, to document it for myself because I'm the type of person that could become a little too fixated on building a successful blog--pleasing the audience, looking for new followers, etc.  But that would take up waaaaaaay too much of my time and not really pay off much for an anonymous blogger such as myself.

So, back to work on my book, plus that revise and resubmit article due in 1 month! 

• Oh, plus I have to arrange for four days worth of snacks for my daughter's kindergarten (it should have been 5 days, but we forgot to do it today!).  
• And make sure my son finishes his homework (had a 7:30am mtg with his teacher this morning about the fact that it is taking him 2+ hrs to do his homework.  Unfortunately, nothing much resolved. And my son is going on 2 hrs again tonight as I write this.).  
• And I didn't mention yet that I missed half my daughter's ballet recital tonight because my bus was 20 minutes late! It is NEVER late--except for ballet recital night.  (Luckily, her dad and brother were there for the entire recital. She hasn't figured out exactly when I arrived--so she's not mad. But I'm mad).