Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

A Much-Needed Facelift

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Two hours later, and I’m still sitting at my computer; I feel like my eyes are peeling and my brain is melting. No, I’m not doing crystal meth – I’m trying to fix the blog. Getting content on the blog was my first priority. Now that I’m 60 posts in, I’m starting to work on the brand. It’s easy to pick the first template that comes your way; I chose Minima, which is Blogger’s default template, because I knew I’d be changing it later. It didn’t matter what it looked like in the beginning. Now, with peeling eyes and melty brain, I finally give a shit.

It seems fun, designing your own blog, or creating a page that represents who you are – and in theory, it is fun. Choosing your favorite colors are fun, and finding a font you love can be fun (except for a nerd like me, because I find most fonts to be monotonous and disappointing). Designing a blog includes those things, but it’s not FUN for someone like me. I just want to take a photo of what I want (which is in my mind only), and then hurl it at my computer monitor where it will miraculously turn into a new and improved web page. Surprisingly, it’s not done that way.

There’s a lot of back and forth between different tutorials, note-taking, constant music changing (I need energetic FOCUS music that doesn’t distract, so don’t listen to Hot Chip, Gotan Project, or The Presets because they will assist you in nothing but failure), refreshing my HTML skillz (an all-day process, I assure you), reading through a thousand lines of code looking for one small tag, saving-saving-saving-losing data, image searching, frustrated shrieking, hunger pangs, and giving up. Since it will take me at least two more hours before I give up (and beg the Esq for assistance), I figured I would take a break and detail how incredibly frustrating this is for someone who never uses the math-science-logic side of their brain, which is left, or right, or whatever.

This page had better look crazy awesome by the end of all this. Or I might end up in a bathtub filled with my own failed, weary blood – one never knows. That’s a nice thought.

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