WyTF am I writing this blog?

Really? Wy?

Fact is, I don't know. What I do know, or seem to know is that when I write I feel happy and when I don't I feel miserable. I mean really, really miserable.

Feeling miserable is different from being miserable, I will point out. Whether I write or don't write does not change the fact that I am a happy guy. My emotional baseline is in the happy region. No, I don't smile that much. Yes, I don't always look happy. But trust me, I am happy. Almost always.

But.

When I don't write--and by "write" I don't mean scribbling in my notebook, I mean producing something visible in a public place--then I'm miserable. Awful feelings overlay my baseline happiness. I whine and complain and moan. And then I don't write.

Why?

And why does it have to be public?

Every day I write three pages, longhand, as advised in Julia Cameron's book The Artist's Way. I have a stack of these notebooks two feet high. I never look at them. Yet I keep them. Why? I like writing my pages. I'd be even worse if I didn't do that. But writing my pages is not enough for me. For some reason it's got to be public. Private does not work.

Bobbi thinks that I'm looking for an audience. Maybe. But I'm not sure that I am. Writing for an audience seems like a lot of work. Or that's the impression I get from my favorite blog, SlateStarCodex or my favorite social network poster Yonatan Zunger on G+. Not only do these guys write great stuff, they moderate the comments. And get in conversations. I don't know how they do it. I'm pretty sure that I don't have the energy.

So why am I writing this? I don't know.

I guess it's because I don't like being miserable.

For today, I'll leave it at that.