Cinahilger's Blog



No one wants to read this.

Many times I ask myself the question, “Why journal?” Or more precisely, “Why journal publicly?” The truth is, no one wants to read this. I’m not famous, nor are my blogs particularly savory or filled with insightful or hilarious knowledge. No one logs onto their computer and heads straight to my blog to see if I’ve posted another literary gem. And that would be a real drag if I was aiming to gain internet fame.

But the truth is, I’m not.

So why? I ask myself every time I sit down to write. Why even bother with a public journal if you don’t care if anyone reads it? And honestly, I don’t have an answer for that. There are people in my life who would probably enjoy reading these entries; friends of mine or family members. But I haven’t told any of them about this new blog of mine. I leave this blog open to the uncaring public and yet shield it from the notice of those who actually give a shit about my life.

I took piano lessons for about 11 years of my life. To this day, I hate playing in front of people. I love to play. But I hate to play in front of people. However, when I was little my mom and I would clean the church windows when no one was there, and I would go into the sanctuary and play the big grand piano to the empty sanctuary, pretending all those vacant chairs were filled.

Perhaps that experience is similar to why I write in a forum such as this. To write such thoughts in a little leatherbound journal would be like playing the upright in the living room. Writing here, in this public yet empty place, is like entertaining my imaginary audience.

The truth is, I have next to no self confidence. However, I’ve spent 21 years creating for myself this pretend confidence that I display by making people laugh and being lighthearted. The truth is, though, that underneath that I’m a shrinking coward. Knowing people are listening when I play piano makes me convinced of the inferiority of my talent. Especially when it comes to people that I know and love. Similarly, this journal feels very personal. I think knowing that no one reads this gives me the confidence to write and not be worried that others will notice my inferiority. And yet it’s public setting gives me the ability to imagine that I have something important to say, as if hundreds are waiting as I type this, waiting with bated breath for me to hit the blue “publish” button so they can gasp in relative wonder over the words I just finished typing.

A startlingly scary idea to be sure, because if such a thing were true I would probably cease typing how I feel and bring up more safe, general topics for my audience. Kind of chilly out today, isn’t it?

So there it is, this pathetic blog’s intentions fleshed out. Your writer is too shy to write to a real public, but revels in the idea of writing to an imaginary one.

And that’s what you have to look forward to, my imaginary readers, more of these utterly useless entries to come.

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