NPO #12: Me? A Waste of Time? Really?
Long time, no blog, Ticketholders!
It's been six whole months since I posted anything; partly because I ran out of material and time, but mostly because I succumbed to the combined depression of watching and reviewing five Tremors movies (a review of the sixth one is in the works right now), reading and reviewing Sleeping Beauties, and having some of my local Washington state Ticketholders tell me that no one cares what I have to say.
Of course, if writing were something I loved to do and share with the world, it wouldn't matter what or who jumped on the internet to troll me and the manner in which I use my time. I would keep writing and sharing my efforts with whatever click-bait enthusiasts, super-intelligent chimpanzees with laptops, or actual fans of blogs in general--and of my blog, specifically--happened to read the content I provided for them. But this actually hurt me.
I could have handled random trolls no problem. I could have coped with Gorilla Grodd's fifth cousin twice removed throwing poo emojis at my comments section. I could have even handled complaints from disillusioned fans hating on my choice of topic. But because of who was telling me that my online presence and voice are meaningless, this actually hurt me.
Yes, I realize that there are other people out there getting millions of views on YouTube and other platforms, such that they are able to make a more than comfortable living for themselves off of a single post, and that I earn nothing and have had to scrape and beg for eight years to get to fifty-two thousand views for my entire blog. I'm okay with my statistical insignificance. I enjoy writing. It's hard to do sometimes and I fall prey to my own thoughts and insecurities about the quality of my work, but I enjoy doing it. That's why, even though it makes no sense for me to say so, it hurt so much more because of who brought my worthlessness to my attention.
To those people, I say this: I am not a retard, a bastard, a monster, a mistake, or a waste of time. I am Sean Wilkinson, Essaymaster, Poetrymaster, Ticketmaster, Writer, Blogger, Heromachinist, Sandwich Artist, and man of many opinions. And my opinion of those that hate on what I do is this: Fuck off before I shake you off.
Me.
Shaking it off.
Really.
You?
Fucking off.
Really.
Out.
Really.
It's been six whole months since I posted anything; partly because I ran out of material and time, but mostly because I succumbed to the combined depression of watching and reviewing five Tremors movies (a review of the sixth one is in the works right now), reading and reviewing Sleeping Beauties, and having some of my local Washington state Ticketholders tell me that no one cares what I have to say.
Of course, if writing were something I loved to do and share with the world, it wouldn't matter what or who jumped on the internet to troll me and the manner in which I use my time. I would keep writing and sharing my efforts with whatever click-bait enthusiasts, super-intelligent chimpanzees with laptops, or actual fans of blogs in general--and of my blog, specifically--happened to read the content I provided for them. But this actually hurt me.
I could have handled random trolls no problem. I could have coped with Gorilla Grodd's fifth cousin twice removed throwing poo emojis at my comments section. I could have even handled complaints from disillusioned fans hating on my choice of topic. But because of who was telling me that my online presence and voice are meaningless, this actually hurt me.
Yes, I realize that there are other people out there getting millions of views on YouTube and other platforms, such that they are able to make a more than comfortable living for themselves off of a single post, and that I earn nothing and have had to scrape and beg for eight years to get to fifty-two thousand views for my entire blog. I'm okay with my statistical insignificance. I enjoy writing. It's hard to do sometimes and I fall prey to my own thoughts and insecurities about the quality of my work, but I enjoy doing it. That's why, even though it makes no sense for me to say so, it hurt so much more because of who brought my worthlessness to my attention.
To those people, I say this: I am not a retard, a bastard, a monster, a mistake, or a waste of time. I am Sean Wilkinson, Essaymaster, Poetrymaster, Ticketmaster, Writer, Blogger, Heromachinist, Sandwich Artist, and man of many opinions. And my opinion of those that hate on what I do is this: Fuck off before I shake you off.
Me.
Shaking it off.
Really.
You?
Fucking off.
Really.
Out.
Really.
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