Just a Pen and a Camera

It's infuriating to me to think that the more I try, the less I get. This seems unbearably tried and true and it seems ridiculously unfair. But the truth of the matter is, no one likes the look of desperation, in any form. People want to see that you're maybe somewhat interested, definitely doing your own thing and uncaring about judgments of other people. Which is bullshit, because everyone cares what others think, to some degree or another. No one likes being alone.

At the moment: I'm pissed off.

I'm pissed off because I've been looking through party pictures from Syracuse and I can see on these people's faces the lack of interest or respect for me. I'm pissed because I can't hang on to the people I care about. Because I had a dream about the one pseudo enemy I have emailing me some sort of nice truce. Pissed about having to stay in one spot, pissed about not having a lover.. just fucking pissed in general. Pissed at ex's for being ex's, pissed at Apollo for being beautiful and careless, pissed at a handful of women who are bitches to me for no good reason, pissed at shitty actors, photographers, models and authors who get paid retarded amounts of money for being pieces of shit. Pissed that the world revolves around who you know, not what you can do. Perseverance only goes so far as dedication to shoving your work in the right peoples faces until they're tired of telling you to go away.

Why I'm pissed off, example 1:

The other day, I had an older man come up to me and just rip into me for no good reason. I was sitting at a cafe, trying to write (in my blog, in my journal, just anything really) and he drunkenly comes up to me, pointing out that I've sat behind my computer for a couple hours and asks me what I'm doing. Here I thought he would be happy to see a young person trying to be creative and what-have-you and I smile big and say the easiest answer, "I'm blogging". Which, to me, is simple. A blog is an online journal where anyone can write whatever the fuck they want.

He decides to rip into me for about twenty minutes about how my blog must be shit, must have no worth or substance because I've done no research on anything, never having read the classics, and that just because people read it doesn't mean it has value, it just means that morons are following it.

Excuse me?

After explaining to him that I was currently reading Catch-22 and Wuthering Hights, his attitude changed completely. I drilled back into him about how "an Intellectual" would not put words in another's mouth and surely wouldn't assume intelligence, pointing out that he hadn't even taken a breath to ask me what books I liked or what my thoughts on blogging in general were.

huff.

Not saying that my blog has any substance but I write it for myself. Sure, I want others to read it, and I'd love to think that people enjoy what I am writing, but ultimately it doesn't matter to me. I have secret blogs that I write in that no one knows about. I have paper journals and I write letters that sometimes get sent but mostly they get stored away.

Same thing with my pictures. They're for me. My memories. My life. Feel free to enjoy them, but don't bother judging it's content. I'm just a girl with a pen and a camera. Nothing more.

The truth is, is that I know I have a handful of readers, and I studder over what to say. I do care, and I am afraid of judgment.