Putting My English Degree to Good Use, or: Does This Mean I’m a Published Writer?

So here it is, world. My blog.

I’m not gonna lie, the word “blog” really freaks me out. There are several reasons for this, not the least of which is that I used to want to be a writer, and by “writer” I mean of books, and by “books,” I mean those things that we used to buy and share and feel and smell and occasionally read before reading stopped being a thing. As much lighter as it would make my purse, I just cannot bring myself to buy a Kindle because A) I’m poor and I hear they’re literally giving out books for free at the library, and B) I love the physical experience of turning pages, and of that specific kind of anxiety you feel when you start running out of pages to turn and you know that it just can’t end like this.

You don’t really get that from a blog, am I right?

But alas, the world is changing without me, blogs are the new books and the internet is the new coffee shop, so here I am.

Anyway, I decided to start a blog because I have a lot of opinions about a lot of things, and while the world may have absolutely no use for those opinions, that hasn’t stopped TMZ, has it? For a long time I have been unburdening myself by means of Facebook statuses and long-winded text messages to friends, and very often the response I’ve received has been positive. That said, it’s always been painstakingly obvious to me that I was taking the easy way out, that these positive responses are due to the fact that my audience is comprised of people who generally agree with me and my views (hi, Mom). Not always, but most of the time. And so it’s been sort of like asking your husband over and over and over if he really and truly loves you, knowing full well that each and every time he’s going to say “Yes, of course, you’re lovely,” because if he says anything else you both know you’ll choke him out. Or so I hear.

While it’s definitely ego-pumping to receive positive comments from your friends and family, it’s not really helping anyone grow or expand in the long run. It doesn’t make me mature as a writer or force me to re-evaluate my views, and I imagine it hasn’t done the same for anyone else, either. Which is why I’ve decided to take my thoughts to the streets. (And by “the streets” I mean the wires and satellites which magically make the letters appear on this screen as I type them, and then supernaturally fly those letters into your home by way of what I can only assume is fairy dust and hamsters in wheels.)

So anyway, back to My Feelings.

I’m a person who’s burdened by a lot of concerns. Lots of things worry me. You may be thinking, “Oh, Lauren, everyone has worries, duh,” as I would if I were reading this, and then I would think, “You must be SO full of yourself to have started a blog just to talk about your concerns!” (I’m pretty judgmental, obviously.)

But, to give you a better idea of what it’s like to be In My Brain, here’s a laughably tiny list of the things I’m concerned about at this very moment:

That my boss will notice that I’m using her computer to write my first blog entry, even though I’m writing it in a gmail window (on top of being judgmental, I’m also very sneaky).

That I’m hungry. Duh. And speaking of food:

donuts, and their merciless hold over me.

That terrible things are happening in Russia, which goes hand-in-hand with:

gay rights.

Animal rights.

Women’s rights, paying special attention to the subcategory of:

women’s reproductive rights, which leads me to:

public health care.

Private health care.

My privates. (I’m sure most women can attest that it’s pretty much a full-time job to keep up with what goes on down there.)

My dog.

My dog’s privates. (This actually is not a joke – at all times she is either A) licking her butt, B) itching her butt, or C) doing something to her no-no place that you’re really not supposed to do in mixed company.)

My dog becomingly increasingly obese and my role in this. Also, the fact that she’s a total bitch. (Figurative or literal? You decide.)

That my dog is home alone right now, and what if that makes her sad? And what if that sadness is also contributing to her growing belly? And what if she’s picked up on my bad happens and she, too, is a stress-eater? Which reminds me:


The snow outside and the fact that I refuse to do any shoveling and the potential this has to do real damage to my marriage.

My marriage. Not because anything is wrong with it – quite the opposite, in fact. It’s lovely. Unless I’m missing something important. Maybe we’re on a downward spiral because I’m subconsciously ignoring some real problem that’s slowly driving a wedge between us. Like my refusal to shovel. Perhaps we should talk about it. I’m going to go home tonight and talk to him about it, because obviously he resents me but is keeping his feelings locked up inside to avoid confronting our issues. What a dick.

Speaking of the snow outside and my refusal to shovel it: Seasonal Affective Disorder. (Which, by the way, I totally didn’t believe was a real thing until I moved to Boston and realized that New England weather is America’s way of weeding out the weak.)

Poverty, sadness, illness, depression, hopelessness, worldwide despair. Also,

national disasters, global warming, killer bees, dying coral reefs, and sad, fuzzy polar bears clinging desperately to glaciers the size of whiskey rocks.

Money/taxes/paychecks, or: Things That Fall Under the General Umbrella of “Not Enough.”

The mysterious creature known as the “401k.” Because I am almost 30 and genuinely have no idea what that is.

Self-control. This is probably a skill worth looking into.

The pros and cons of spending five years on an English degree and half of a Communications degree. If only they gave out halves.

The fact that the amount of money in my savings isn’t enough to even warrant being called “a savings,” but would really be more appropriately titled, “a measlings.”

And in the “What a Surprise! Said No One Ever” category:

How to make a blog.

And that’s just the stuff I’m worried about right now.

So if you’re looking for a candid exploration of any of the hard-hitting issues mentioned above, look no further. We may even go into my privates. (That one’s figurative.)

You’re welcome.

9 thoughts on “Putting My English Degree to Good Use, or: Does This Mean I’m a Published Writer?

  1. No surprise here that absolutely loved this first post. You my dear are getting added to my “favorites” bookmark bar! Can’t wait for future posts.


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