Now, here's something that hasn't happened on the blog in a really, really long time: this is my eighth entry for the month.

Granted, the circumstances are somewhat unusual. We had an election a few weeks ago, after all, and for some reason I had it in me to write a lot of things. Sure, I've written a lot about politics before, but between changing perspectives, extremely polarized discourse, and a lack of energy to actually commit things to a text window, I wrote less than I thought I would... at least until I ended up churning out a trilogy of essays (here, here and here), followed by two on election day itself (here and here).

And then, back to what has long been normal: nine days between essays. That may also be an election-related one, but it used to be that I had to write it as soon as possible, to capture lightning in a bottle, so to speak. Not this time.

It is tiring, though, having to have a say on something while it's still hot. I've written as much six weeks ago, actually. But I wish it was all about me deliberately deciding to be more thoughtful, to take a longer view, to not be as reactive. Saying that would make me look good, sure, but it's far from what's really going on.

I think I'm writing less because I'm not seeing the point in doing so.

I know it's not in vogue - never in vogue - to say you're doing things for other people's affirmation. Something about how you're doing things for yourself and for yourself alone, that sort of thing. But, well, fuck it. I began this blog because I wanted to impress people. I didn't know it at the time, but it certainly served that purpose. I did my own layouts. I edited my own photos. I wrote paragraphs and paragraphs. I fashioned myself as, well, not like Hannah Horvath's "voice of a generation", but just as a guy who wrote his thoughts down in public, for better or worse. I wanted people to see that, and I certainly felt good when people tell me that I write well. I mean, I always thought my capabilities are pedestrian compared to other people, but you take what you can get.

But then, that was many, many years ago. I've been updating this blog, virtually without interruption, for seventeen years. That's over half my life of hoping that someone out there would say that I write well, that I am good at something.

Seventeen years is a long time, though. People move on, get their priorities straight, live their lives. I may have done it too, but I still take the time to write. I spend idle time writing paragraph after useless paragraph, stitching together fragments and hoping I remember them. (That's probably why I was able to write so much this month: not necessarily because of the elections, but because I've been spending weeks putting things together in my head. So, "thoughtful", but not really.) I spend all that energy and effort still hoping that someone out there will say that I write well, that they enjoyed what I read - that, in effect, I am good at something.

But, you know, time passes, and people move on.

I didn't realize this at the time, but when I closed the music blog I lost a steady drip of affirmation. Yes, I know this makes me look pathetic, admitting so publicly about wanting to be liked, but it does your head some good, more or less. I wasn't craving for it like someone quitting cigarettes cold turkey probably would - I never smoke, so I don't really know - but when I'm feeling particularly low, I go back to that blog's Twitter mentions and read the nice things people had to say throughout my three-week farewell lap. I really shouldn't be saying this out loud, but there you go. Nice things were said. I don't regret closing the blog - I definitely no longer have the energy for it - but nice things were definitely said.

I've been looking at those more often these past few weeks. I think the last two-odd years is starting to culminate in my head. I already have a few... people I talk to with some regularity, fewer than most of whoever's reading this, but the whole social distancing thing just drives the point further. It felt easy because I didn't go out a lot in the old times, but it's harder now because I am reminded of something I was able to push aside more effectively then. I'm nobody until I'm needed for something, and then, I'm a nobody again.

So, about this blog, this seventeen-year project that has, for better or worse, become a part of my very psyche. I can still muster the energy to write things - this entry is far longer, and far more revelatory, than I initially planned - but sooner or later, I won't be able to. So much for vowing to update this until I die. Anyway, lately I've been thinking about closing this thing, for many reasons, perhaps the same ones I've outlined earlier. It's going to be difficult, so I've been keeping it in the back burner. But you know the nature of intrusive thoughts. It just keeps going at you. Move on, Niko. Everyone else has.

I think this is why I've been writing less. I've been thinking things like those a lot, and nobody wants that.