Attached
Wow, I had quite the post written that just disappeared when my browser randomly closed.
By and by, I'm oddly attached to this journal. Despite the fact that I no longer update it, and rarely visit the site, the thought of deleting this account has never once crossed my mind. Perhaps the memories embedded into it are to strong? In fact, I still think about the people I used to follow here. Whom I still follow in a way, after all I never stopped, I simply stopped coming to the site. Indeed, I sometimes I wonder where people are now, remembering the point in which I stopped avidly following their lives in posts and wondering how it's progressed from there. Wondering whether the writers are still writing and if so, what that is... About relationships, thought processes, just.. Life I suppose.
Yes. I'm the forever lurker. It's not my fault though, I'm an INTJ type AND a virgo... I'm predisposed to wanting to observe rather then engage... Actually, I'm also a caricature of a writer... I couldn't me more predisposed to lurking if I were... Well... anti-social? And I'm not by the way... I'm actually quite nice. Most of the time, when I've had coffee...
But moving on.
In my last serious post here I mentioned that I wanted to start writing again but that I could not. Strangely enough, while talking to a fellow buddhist [oh yeah... did I mention that I was a buddhist now? *scratches that back of my neck and shrugs*] woman, she told me that I should start writing again. I told her that after I finished my last story that very much felt like that the-song-that-doesn't-end, I haven't been able to get very far into anything. The farthest I've gotten has been a drabble that I only moments ago remembered should be in the drafts folder of an old e-mail address. Telling her this however didn't dissuade her of her point of view. She was firm in her belief that I should start writing again. About two weeks after that conversation she died suddenly during dinner with her husband.
Now please don't get sad, I hate sad posts. No doubt it's always sad when a person dies suddenly, however, I'd only met this woman a few times. But the point is... She told me to write. And then she died. In retrospect and in the days following her death... Well really even now, it just feels like such a command. And ominous command of untold importance.
And yet still, I cannot.
And I will be honest, at times.. This does sadden me. So I will stare at the screen and write mindless sentences hoping that they will eventually meld together into something worth writing. Given ideas of worth, I set and I try yet nothing comes.
Actually the song that just started playing is rather apt | Love Lost - The Temper Trap | By and by... Sometimes I wonder. I got lost in my lurking, in time, in space, and I wonder... What am I doing?
I had a conversation with a new friend, she told me I was still young and didn't really need to be thinking as deep as I do and worrying.
I silently forgave her for not realizing that she was talking to a former philosophy major that gave up program, but had it so deeply ingrained in her hardwiring that she was as predisposed for sitting in a coffee shop long past the time the contents of the coffee cup would empty, simply to watch the passerby's... as she was to sit alone in a room and wondering about constraints of time and space and their implications. Wondering about the mind and how any given moment can so quickly become a memory, that then begs the question... How does one determine what IS a memory and what isn't? Going deeper into questions of self, origins and... really to obscurities that have no point in even being written.
So yes, I forgave her for not knowing me at all. And Jeez, this is why I avoid this journal. It's like... I'm more inclined to ramble about nonsense here. Alas, indeed.... yo... [bk]...
I was just passing through, and felt bad for the echo of journals past that has become this journal. I felt compelled to add something new. Even if it'll be another few months to the year until I do so again.
By and by, I'm oddly attached to this journal. Despite the fact that I no longer update it, and rarely visit the site, the thought of deleting this account has never once crossed my mind. Perhaps the memories embedded into it are to strong? In fact, I still think about the people I used to follow here. Whom I still follow in a way, after all I never stopped, I simply stopped coming to the site. Indeed, I sometimes I wonder where people are now, remembering the point in which I stopped avidly following their lives in posts and wondering how it's progressed from there. Wondering whether the writers are still writing and if so, what that is... About relationships, thought processes, just.. Life I suppose.
Yes. I'm the forever lurker. It's not my fault though, I'm an INTJ type AND a virgo... I'm predisposed to wanting to observe rather then engage... Actually, I'm also a caricature of a writer... I couldn't me more predisposed to lurking if I were... Well... anti-social? And I'm not by the way... I'm actually quite nice. Most of the time, when I've had coffee...
But moving on.
In my last serious post here I mentioned that I wanted to start writing again but that I could not. Strangely enough, while talking to a fellow buddhist [oh yeah... did I mention that I was a buddhist now? *scratches that back of my neck and shrugs*] woman, she told me that I should start writing again. I told her that after I finished my last story that very much felt like that the-song-that-doesn't-end, I haven't been able to get very far into anything. The farthest I've gotten has been a drabble that I only moments ago remembered should be in the drafts folder of an old e-mail address. Telling her this however didn't dissuade her of her point of view. She was firm in her belief that I should start writing again. About two weeks after that conversation she died suddenly during dinner with her husband.
Now please don't get sad, I hate sad posts. No doubt it's always sad when a person dies suddenly, however, I'd only met this woman a few times. But the point is... She told me to write. And then she died. In retrospect and in the days following her death... Well really even now, it just feels like such a command. And ominous command of untold importance.
And yet still, I cannot.
And I will be honest, at times.. This does sadden me. So I will stare at the screen and write mindless sentences hoping that they will eventually meld together into something worth writing. Given ideas of worth, I set and I try yet nothing comes.
Actually the song that just started playing is rather apt | Love Lost - The Temper Trap | By and by... Sometimes I wonder. I got lost in my lurking, in time, in space, and I wonder... What am I doing?
I had a conversation with a new friend, she told me I was still young and didn't really need to be thinking as deep as I do and worrying.
I silently forgave her for not realizing that she was talking to a former philosophy major that gave up program, but had it so deeply ingrained in her hardwiring that she was as predisposed for sitting in a coffee shop long past the time the contents of the coffee cup would empty, simply to watch the passerby's... as she was to sit alone in a room and wondering about constraints of time and space and their implications. Wondering about the mind and how any given moment can so quickly become a memory, that then begs the question... How does one determine what IS a memory and what isn't? Going deeper into questions of self, origins and... really to obscurities that have no point in even being written.
So yes, I forgave her for not knowing me at all. And Jeez, this is why I avoid this journal. It's like... I'm more inclined to ramble about nonsense here. Alas, indeed.... yo... [bk]...
I was just passing through, and felt bad for the echo of journals past that has become this journal. I felt compelled to add something new. Even if it'll be another few months to the year until I do so again.