blogging about blogging/writing

I have always enjoyed writing/typing,, in school for medical administration the typing class was my favorite and was also my most favorite part of my job at the ob/gyn and also at the trucking co and post-tention company i worked for years earlier.. Some days I want to write about everything and the time isn't there later the thoughts are lost.. I have been having these moments come and go for a long time.. While I want to write I'm careless of if it's ever seen... and other times after it's written I start to second guess everything written and want it gone or hidden, where it wont be seen by anyone's eyes but my own.. Painful past times, scars unfolded in a story, maybe useless information or thoughts that elude my mind. So many stories do I dare tell to only be judged To only be ridiculed and condemned.. who reads anymore anyway.., I don't care for gossip or slander but I know in due time someone would make up something to have my book ended so I do not tell a tale of the times with people at Turney Ave, other than some ghost stories for which are mine and my own to tell regardless of who feels entitled to a place in my story or not.  But that's the thing If not of my own pitiful haunted past of loss and struggle into the current, then what..   a book of books... who reads anymore anyway... Like I said even my blogs are unseen... nobody wants to read stories even if they're short. Nobody wants to read anything that isn't moving past their face at the same time ready for something else to take its place.  I just enjoy typing, I am not even that great at that either really! Cant write about anything for a book, an article, a page or a post anymore even, without an ideal topic especially,,... everything's being replaced with vlogging and videograpy rather than photography... I can't keep up.. & I cant get with it, Like I cant adapt to doing things in new ways.. I'm stuck in the new before the now new, like being in a whirlwind, I don't know which way is up or down and I know I will fall and land hard with nothing left to my name and nothing left of me, barely anyone to remember who I was and how I lived this bittersweet life.. with all the nameless objects that have entangled me here that I now shed of in life as I leave little crumbs of me here and there instead.