The Geeky G4mer was not my first foray into the blogging world. Oh no. There were many many others.

Over the years I have had various little bits and pieces about my life on the World Wide Web. Scraps of this and that, scattered over random names that I have long since forgotten.

To date though, this has been the one I have updated the most, but it‘s hard to think of new content when your life is just run of the mill and compared to some, downright boring.

Everyone has something to offer. Everyone has something to give. Everyone will touch someone regardless of whether they realise it or not.

A blog for all intents and purposes it usually an outlet for something. Somewhere to be honest, somewhere to be humorous, somewhere to vent, the list is endless. Most of us do it for fun. There are some though,  who have crafted their art so skillfully they can now live off the proceeds, or so they would have us believe. I feel under pressure to think of new things now, imagine what it would be like if I was getting paid and had deadlines. Pressure cooker springs to mind.

Despite the fact I do it for fun and to keep my aging brain active, there is no denying the little buzz you experience when you get a notification of a new like or follow. If I write and post something on my morning train journey, one person liking the post has me squealing with delight, usually at the expense of the eardrums of everyone within a 100m radius.

It makes me want to better myself, but in doing so, do I set the bar to high.

Years ago I realised I was never going to be an amazing writer or poet and I’m ok with that. I’m content to be mediocre or even something close to it. I’m enjoying the company of the people I have around me here, and getting to know them via the details they choose to share.

I’m learning things about myself, like the fact that I don’t have to be perfect or amazing or even all that intellectual. It’s perfectly fine to just be me, a little bit thick and occasionally funny. I’ve made people smile and I’ve made people laugh, and that in turn has made everything worthwhile.

Every time there is a little tinkle of a notification or someone leaves me a comment it’s a little pat on the back, someone is saying, you know what, you’re no Whilimena Shakespear but that wasn’t a bad attempt. That beats back the blues just a little.

So to sign out I am going to leave you with one of my poems, Lee who is much more organised than me kept a back log of all my old posts and poems from the site I used to have called “The Trouble With Me”. Now bear in mind this was written around 2002, so a little like my mental age, it’s around 11 years old.

Being Late

The birds didn’t sing and the sun didn’t shine,
as I snored in my bed unaware of the time.
And the next thing I know it’s a quarter to 8,
and my Mum’s screaming up, “you’re going to be late”.

But even at that time all hope was lost,
I’d missed the damn train and my parents were cross.
My bed was calling but my mind said “Make haste”
So I tossed off the covers and to the bathroom I raced!

A quick sprinkling of water, and a brush round my jaws,
and a luke warm face cloth around my face and my paws,
locating clean clothes amid all the clutter,
running around like a bit of a nutter.

Down the stairs slowly it feels like a mile,
But “Good afternoon” she says with a sarcastic wee smile,
into the car for a 5 mile journey of silence,
mind it could have been worse there might have been violence.

So here I am on a later train,
I shall never trust my alarm clock again,
but you know what it’s worth all the trouble and strife,
to get another shot at this thing they call life.