I'm in a cranky slump right now. A slump exacerbated by extreme stress, impending travel, various family members being hospitalized, and my conviction that I have some mysterious illness that is causing me to sleep for 12 hours straight and be dead to the world. I also don't feel like blogging at all. I look at what I've written lately compared to what I used to write and I don't see myself there. There's no spark. There's no me. There are just words on a screen and it's monumentally depressing, to say the very least.
I started writing because I had to get my feelings about books out, and even my most tolerant and patient friends could only take so much of my ranting. So I unleashed it here, in this random, obscure corner of the internet. But right now, I don't feel like doing that. I feel more push to post ALL THE THINGS ALL THE TIME than I feel the pull to express myself. So I'm stepping back.
I often find myself wondering how people write entire books. I can't even manage to eke out a few mildly witty and incisive paragraphs about someone else's book.
And then there's the drama of the book blogging world. Here, have a meme! Here, fight over ARCs! Here, labor under the delusion that you're a speshul snowflake and are entitled to free books and swag and autographs and the adoration of nameless fans. Dude (and I use that word in the most Bill and Ted, gender-neutral way possible): you're not all that and a bag of chips. Not everyone can be THE BEST AT BOOK BLOGGING. That's not what "the best" means.
It's exhausting to read about bloggers or vloggers or bookstagrammers or whatever the heck portmanteau we've created to match up with the latest social media platform (do we have booksnappers yet?) who are pouty that they didn't snag the a copy of A Hysteria of Hype and Roses or whatever at the latest convention or event. That Netgalley or Edelweiss didn't approve their request. Those ARCs? They are just things. It's what's inside that counts. Books are ideas and dreams and wishes and fears. It doesn't matter how early you are able to read a book. What matters is how the book affects you. Did it change the way you think about life? Did it exhilarate you? Did it leave you somber and pensive? Did it touch your soul? That's what's important, not where or how or from whom you received this glorified rough draft.
I'll be heading to ALA Annual this week in Orlando. I don't feel as excited as I usually would because of what happened in Orlando. However, I hope to recharge my creative batteries. This will be accomplished by: attending sessions, meeting my friends, getting tons of ARCs for my Teen SRP prizes (I am running out already!!!) and sitting by the pool. Mostly I am looking forward to the pool.
Plus, at work, we migrated to a new ILS, changed our website, and changed our room booking software all in the same week. I would not wish that on my worst enemy.
So. You've reached the end of my rambling, incoherent, grumpy post about my general grumpiness. Radio silence until next week, but catch me on Twitter @Pamelibrariland because I'll definitely be live-tweeting ALA! I also have a Snapchat but because I am an Old, I don't remember what my Snapchat name is and I'm still not quite sure how to use it other than to face-swap. You can probably search for me on there, though.