Okay, the first blog I wrote disappeared. You can find it on Instagram. Or not. Who would know?
It was about my frustration with being a craftsperson. Which was before I knew about my frustration with being a blogger. Although I now remember this is not a new frustration but a re-cycled one (ethical responsibility first, people) because years ago I tried to write a blog on some other platform (my favourite shoe, kind to ankles), which I also couldn’t find, necessitating me to pay someone to set up a website.
Don’t bother going to the website – nothing much happens. The person I paid to set it up and run it went off to be an influencer and now poses with handbags instead of answering texts or emails asking questions about what happened to my website.
Oh, it’s all so easy in the Internet Age! If you haven’t spent the previous Age not having the Internet. Without the Internet I would not know the Bad Influencer was posing with handbags instead of answering my emails and texts. But without the Internet I wouldn’t have a website. Which I don’t.
Am I talking myself into being Amish? And if I am, is anyone listening?
This is the third time I have typed out this blog and trying to post it somewhere is worse than knitting and sewing combined plus I don’t even have something I can’t wear because there’s (a) no buttonholes or (b) no-one can work out what it is at the end.
What I loved about writing my column for the recently-deceased NZ Woman’s Day was that I had all the fun of writing it, and someone else had the pain of putting it out in to the world.
Now I am that person.
Sorry, must dash, I have a barn-raising to attend. But if you are reading this (and you are not me), congratulate yourself. It’s a miracle.