Back in the golden age of Back to the Fridge, I posted five days a week, Monday through Friday. It was a brutal schedule (for me, anyway) mostly because my blog wasn’t a typical blog. While I’m not sure if there’s a formal definition for a “typical” blog, in my head it was the kind of blog where the author simply wrote about whatever happened to happen the previous day.
I got up early today and fixed a bowl of oatmeal. Here’s a picture of my oatmeal. I then exercised. Here’s a picture of the treadmill. I went to work. For lunch I had a salad. Here’s a picture of the salad. When I got home I made some mashed potatoes: enough for six people, but I ate them all myself. Here’s a selfie of me feeling stuffed. Have a great weekend everybody!
It’s not a bad format. And it’s definitely a popular format. Lots and lots of blogs like this have lots and lots of followers. For me, though, I just wanted to do something different: like, not have lots and lots of followers.
So I made my posts different (both different from other bloggers and different from each other.) I wanted each to stand on its own. No two would be the same. Every day would be something completely new. It was a challenge and I enjoyed it.
But it was a brutal schedule. I remember talking to my mom about it one day, comparing my life as a blogger to a weekly newspaper columnist. “They’re so lucky,” I said. “They have an entire week to come up with just one stupid column. I have to do that every day.”
Except I didn’t “have to” do that. It was just a blog. It’s not like I was under contract or anything. But the idea of “once a week” stuck with me and when I started this blog, it was settled. Once a week. Every Friday. I’ll have hours and hours and days and days to prepare. Easy peasy.
I climbed into bed last night, tired after another day of the usual busy-ness. As I began to drift off, it hit me. “Crap, is it Friday already?” This thought ignited a heated internal debate.
“Yes, it’s Friday already. You have to write a blog post.”
“I know, I know,” I replied to myself, annoyed.
“What are you going to write about?” I pressed.
“No clue?” I ridiculed myself. “You’ve had a whole week to prepare for this! What’ve you been doing?
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
In the end, I won the argument and I went to sleep with a single thought. “I’ll think of something in the morning.” Whelp, it’s Friday morning and here you go. Clearly I couldn’t think of anything.