Crappily, Crappily, Crappily, Crappily, This Blog Is But a Dream.

The last time I had anything to do with blogging was when I attended a conference and listened to a paper on bloggers. You heard me. Regardless of whether the outcome of the presented research was groundbreaking or not (it most definitely was not, but they did get a grant, so hey), I found out that a blogger is a microcelebrity with exhibitionist tendencies, who should be all about regularity, versatility, self-improvement, and promotion. Promoting what you create should ideally take you more time than creating what you create, whatever it is that you create. Above all, you have to be systematic (whenever I use this word, I think of Celie from The Color Purple), because if you're not, you will die. Okay, you will not die, but you won't have readers either, so you sort of die. I listened, and I listened, and I listened, and I took some notes, and I thought oh man, so this is why I suck at this, then I had a coffee and then I left. And then I thought I should probably post something on my blog, because don't I wanna be a blogger? Right?

Yeah, so that was a month ago.

Pull&Bear jacket and scarf, H&M dress, Mango cardigan, Cropp ankle boots, second-hand backpack

There's a Murphy's Law for that.

Do you know what happens when you leave the house on a Sunday, because you have to get a flea collar for your dog, who got fleas out of nowhere, so you put on your overalls and who needs make up if yesterday's eye liner can be today's smoky eyes and your hair is just let's not even go there, so there you are, a flea-ridden wannabe cowboy walking down the street, do you know what happens then?

You meet someone who says they read your blog.

Cześć, Ewelina. 

Not that I am particularly ashamed of sporting a cowboy outfit, as the bonus picture proves. My dog thinks it's hillarious, though.

 Cubus jeans and scarf, House fox sweater, Stradivarius cardigan, Bershka boots, Pull&Bear bag

Blessed are those who suffer.

I got to talk to my supervisor today.

- I don't know if you remember what I said about five years ago in the very first MA seminar, but...

- I do remember. Writing has to hurt.

- That's it. If it doesn't hurt, it means it is not good writing.

- Mhm. Okay then. It hurts a little bit already, to be honest.

- Nope, that is not enough.

- All right, I promise you I will suffer.

- You have to.

- I will suffer tremendously. Seriously. 

- Very well.

On a side note, I think I'm coming down with a cold. I had taken some stuff against that before I left the house and as a result floors and tiles were smiling at me wherever I went. Plus I could swear a dog said "hi" to me. In a human voice. Gotta love pseudoephedrine. 

bynamesakke dress, H&M shoes and bag, Stradivarius denim jacket, Pull&Bear faux leather pants.

I am the one who reads.

My life has been about paper recently. If people could eat paper, the amount I had to read in the last few weeks would feed quite a bunch. That being said, I managed to forget I ever wanted to get back into blogging. Anyhow, this is what I was wearing to a workshop on fan studies, because I have very little to say most of the time, but at least I have a themed outfit. So there. And no, it was not a convention, it was a legitimate workshop. On methodologies. Really.

Vero Moda faux leather pants, Primark tee, Stradivarius cardigan and belt, Pull&Bear bag, H&M shoes.

The very first semi-rant plus OOTD. Welcome to my abode.

I should have learned a long time ago that there is no logic behind whatever humans do on Facebook and yet I am amazed once more. Not in a good way.

I have experimentally joined two groups recently. On the one hand, I subscribe to what they claim they believe in, on the other hand, I am being sneaky because I simply might need those people for a project. Since both groups are closed, let us just pretend they are about... let me think... let me think some more... let us pretend they are about people who do not eat garlic. So picture this, you don't like garlic, so you join a group of people who don't eat garlic and they are superhappy with it. And proud of it. So they say. And then you look at what is popping up in your feed for a couple of days and all you see is garlic. And stories of how other people put garlic in everything. And how much you're supposed to hate them. And how obviously stupid they are, spawn of Satan. And how every store on this planet sells garlic, even though some people don't eat it. And how nobody really understands you and your hatred of garlic. Once in a blue moon, there will be a post saying "I love my garlic-free life, so this is what I ate instead" or "could we perhaps just focus on something else than garlic, pretty please". But most of it will be garlic. Now, here's what I do not get. Both these groups define themselves as happy people. Shiny happy people, no garlic. By now I have typed "garlic" so many times that I forgot what the word means. And it sounds funny, too. Anyhow, why is it, I have been trying to understand and failing big time, why is it that a group called "I LOVE X!" keeps on posting "I HATE Y". Why. Y. I try to post something garlicless in there from time to time and so far I have not been devoured, but maybe they don't have enough garlic to put on me, I don't know. I understand venting, let me tell you, I vent on a daily basis. But this? Where is the love, people?

Great, now I've got this song stuck in my head.

H&M jacket, Zara skirt, Bershka top and shoes, Stradivarius bag.