The other reason is that the resolution in question is to try to make five posts a week (during January at least) and so every post counts. This is, in and of itself, actually a bad reason, because the plan is not just to post for the sake of it, but for the fun of it. I've got various odds and sods of plans, memories and hilarious comedy ideas that I'd like to write up, and I'm hoping that this stricture will encourage me to do something with them. It's sad to look through my PDA and find scattered sentences marking the graves of potentially entertaining ideas that were neglected until they died from slow context-hemorrhage. And as I said before, I find writing gratifying to an extent that few other activities approach.
This is especially significant when I compare it to what I would being doing instead, were it not for this resolution: I've gotten into bad habits. I reread the same pages of the same books over and over again, or play long but ultimately simplistic and un-engaging computer games. I even realised that I have developed mental 'exercises' that my mind runs through when I'm not engaged in anything else, whose purpose - now I've thought to consider it - is apparently nothing but using up spare brain-time; like playing Patience without the RSI or SETI@Home without the chance of first contact. I don't want that. I'm still a slacker at heart, but I hate it when a day passes without me doing anything that feels worthwhile (one of the reasons why I started volunteering at Oxfam was to stave off that feeling). My definition of 'worthwhile' is pretty forgiving - reading a good book, having an interesting chat or doing a bit of tidying up all count, for example - but though the bar is low, more and more days were slipping beneath it. This resolution has helped me to fight against that so far this year, and I hope it will continue to do so. I don't want to feel like I'm pissing my leisure time away (in a bad way), and though blogging may be a pretty trivial activity it's certainly more significant than my previous choices.
Now, instead of squandering my precious brain-cycles, I come up with brilliant ideas for posts which dissipate before I write them down, or worry about whether I punctuated my last post to maximum effect. If I sit down to some TV or a computer game after writing something it feels, absurdly or not, as if I've earned it in some ill-defined sense. And when I'm at work I get a tiny but nevertheless significant thrill whenever my PC tells me that I've got mail because it might be a comment: communication from someone real, somewhere else, for no reason other than that they had something to say about something I said. And I like that.