#if I have any kind of external stimuli I won't be able to do my chores

[rinisinsides]

The head's been getting too cluttered lately. For ages I was afraid I could only talk to him in my ahead and suddenly there were so many voices that it drowned him out entirely. I have been looking for an outlet for ages. Something to articulate to, maybe something to learn from, and maybe something even that could ignite that little creative spark again.

My first thought (which was, of course, but the 11102023rd thought of 29999999 thoughts in a sequence and perhaps even occurred simultaneously at the point of origin of a later thought, thus making it maybe the one true one even--) was to keep a journal. The classic. Intimate and intentional and impeccable. Pen strokes and the feel of paper on your skin. Shifts in handwriting that reflect the state of your mind, and your heart. Doodles in the corners of pages. All the pretty things that people would adore if they found it after you died.

But alas, journal I could not. For starters I was finding it incredibly hard to choose a notebook that would be my journal. No amount of books I looked at felt right and the ones that maybe kind of did, were too expensive for me to invest in without the guilt gripping me by my throat. Next, I just felt a physical handwritten journal would limit my writing abilities. It's crazy how at some point in time I made the shift where typing became the more common activity in my daily life over writing, and I just never looked back. I also think I would feel more at ease writing humorously on text and I kind of require that in order to talk about things because of my inability to talk about anything painful without 4 humorous clips for padding. Also, my hand would hurt. You get it. Just excuses surely, but somehow excuses enough for me to never actually get to it. But most importantly: When have I ever been able to do something that would be just for me? And perceived just by me? What's the point of doing anything if I won't be seen and loved for it, and what is the point of creating anything if it can only be seen and loved by me?

(Side note: Its been a while since I properly typed like paragraphs in this way and my fingers feel a little achey and it feels like a rusty old (trusted old?) machine being creaked back into action. maybe its just the w33d though)

The next idea was just to keep a google docs type virtual journal but I could not feel the vibes aligning on that so that was out of the window as well.

Next was to create an Instagram account, and I considered this but it would be a hassle when it starts popping up on people's suggested. And then I would feel the need to start letting people on to the account due to the aforementioned challenges regarding seeing and loving. Plus I usually would have pictures to accompany my words but I would get too caught up in the appearance of it (as I would feel it could potentially be seen and loved at some point) and I'd feel the need to say less or more or prettier or uglier or lofty or dreamy or or or other different things just for the picture. And I want it to be as unaffected by external stimuli as possible, at the time.

Next was less idea really, or maybe just a good idea that I immediately implemented. Which was to keep little notes on my phone! And it has been working great! I already have so many (not so many really but it's nice to have any at all) ideas and thoughts and poems written down that I can't wait to keep adding to and delving back into. And it can definitely been combined and worked into...

The last idea. Had this exactly (maybe not that exactly) around 30 minutes ago. I think earlier in the day I had seen the mention of personal blog type posts on someone's instagram, then later I was thinking about multiple things that kept running through my head (just phrases and sentences endlessly echoing out of nowhere) that I wanted to write down and introspect on and something else-- that I really had to say and for the life of me cannot remember now. Anyway, I think I considered posting on my Instagram story about this thing. WAIT! I think I remember, it was about wanting to make an Instagram posts about certain songs and lyrics that have really been sticking to me (my heart and all over and very specific spots like the crook of my neck and the insides of my wrists) but it felt too personal and vulnerable and also just a little lame and I thought about how the whole thing would feel more like a blog anyway. And then it me. A blog! And I'd have it on tumblr over medium or wordpress or something because it allows me more provision to just be informal and silly whenever I feel like it, and it scratches the itch for the seeing and loving as it will be just open enough. And maybe I'll put a little link on it on my Instagram someday and if people click on it and bother reading it, it would really mean that they want to know me. And that would be good for me to know.

So here we are. Thus begins my little loser blogging girl moment and I begin it in the lamest of ways by making it a long, rambly post about the beginning of said loser blogging girl moment and how I arrived at the idea for the moment to be in this form, and then referenced it again in the immediate next paragraph. God, she's insufferable.

At the time of writing this, the name of this blog is rinisinsides. Which is a very apt name and an ensured blog name availability. And you know, whatever goes on here is going to be my insides, which is the plan at least. But I'm already feeling a shift to the name mayorofloserntown, which is probably already taken and kind of does not look good for a blog url, but it's one of those stuck in my head phrases recently. And while I've been typing this I remembered blogs can have titles! And thus my title will be mayor of losertown. Maybe subject to change.

Anyway this is me ending this post! If you read this and you do not know me in real life. how strange for our paths to cross this way. Thank you for scratching the seeing part of the itch, at least. I do not feel assured enough to think that anyone would've loved reading this, and it feels too presumptuous to thank a hypothetical someone who did. If you do know me in real life, I think I feel just a little bit more assured enough to say thank you for scratching the seeing and loving itch.

P.S. Just gonna post this now! Not really rereading or editing anything, except just fixing some red squiggly lines without reading around them much. Just rawdogging it, dog.