Anonymous Anonymous
Sometimes, the anonymity of the internet is such a good thing. There are times when I very much enjoy making posts that I know only I know exist. That I can let my true feelings out and curse like a sailor on leave if I want to and no one will be clutching their pearls in horror that I even know such vocabulary. (Of course, I'd then tell them I've worked in television for a decade. I know stuff that'll peel paint off the walls.)
I have a Facebook, but the Facebook uses my real name so I can't link my LJ there, but that's okay as I don't want to. Sometimes it's more comforting to just let complete strangers know how you feel. There's no one I have to explain myself to, no one who will question my decisions unless I ask for such help, and no one who will think less of me if I do something completely off-the-wall. Problem is, I don't do enough of that. (Side note: I should do more off-the-wall stuff in 2009.)
And you know, being another person online makes me feel rather...mysterious. I don't post pictures of myself and I rarely talk about where I live or any other personal items. I could look like Angelina Jolie or Amy Winehouse on a week-long coke bender. Who knows? I guess I just don't feel like sharing every aspect of my life with anyone who feels like reading it. I mean, if someone is just bound and determined to find me, I'm guessing it wouldn't be too difficult, but it's not like I'm walking around with bread crumbs leading the way. They have to put in the effort. I'm worth it.
All this rambling aside, I made the mistake of looking up the blogs of some people I knew a long time ago and...to be honest...part of me wanted to tell them to stop telling me about EVERY. LITTLE. THING. I mean, holy crap! At this point, the only people who know less about them are people in countries without internet connections. How lucky those indigenous people are, especially when I get treated to extensive ramblings about the baby that they (the acquaintances) are expecting and posting pictures of stretch marks and sonograms and how far dilated they are and what stage and whether the mucus plug is still in and on and on and on. ENOUGH! I love babies, but some conversations really need to be kept between them, their spouses, and their OB/GYN. *shudder*
I like people not knowing where every freckle and bump are located. I don't feel the need to sit down numerous times a day and tell people exactly what I'm doing RIGHT THEN. For those that do, God bless ya, but I don't know how to stay that interesting. Or even make it sound interesting. I don't think I could be that interesting if I tried.
"Today I watched two episodes of Charmed on TNT and had a bagel sandwich while drinking lemonade and then looked at my email on my cell phone." Woo! Tune in again tomorrow for the exciting conclusion!
Perhaps if I were interesting, people might be clamoring for me to constantly update, but then again, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or some such blather. I could be updating under my real name: Zanzibar Buck Buck McFate.
I have a Facebook, but the Facebook uses my real name so I can't link my LJ there, but that's okay as I don't want to. Sometimes it's more comforting to just let complete strangers know how you feel. There's no one I have to explain myself to, no one who will question my decisions unless I ask for such help, and no one who will think less of me if I do something completely off-the-wall. Problem is, I don't do enough of that. (Side note: I should do more off-the-wall stuff in 2009.)
And you know, being another person online makes me feel rather...mysterious. I don't post pictures of myself and I rarely talk about where I live or any other personal items. I could look like Angelina Jolie or Amy Winehouse on a week-long coke bender. Who knows? I guess I just don't feel like sharing every aspect of my life with anyone who feels like reading it. I mean, if someone is just bound and determined to find me, I'm guessing it wouldn't be too difficult, but it's not like I'm walking around with bread crumbs leading the way. They have to put in the effort. I'm worth it.
All this rambling aside, I made the mistake of looking up the blogs of some people I knew a long time ago and...to be honest...part of me wanted to tell them to stop telling me about EVERY. LITTLE. THING. I mean, holy crap! At this point, the only people who know less about them are people in countries without internet connections. How lucky those indigenous people are, especially when I get treated to extensive ramblings about the baby that they (the acquaintances) are expecting and posting pictures of stretch marks and sonograms and how far dilated they are and what stage and whether the mucus plug is still in and on and on and on. ENOUGH! I love babies, but some conversations really need to be kept between them, their spouses, and their OB/GYN. *shudder*
I like people not knowing where every freckle and bump are located. I don't feel the need to sit down numerous times a day and tell people exactly what I'm doing RIGHT THEN. For those that do, God bless ya, but I don't know how to stay that interesting. Or even make it sound interesting. I don't think I could be that interesting if I tried.
"Today I watched two episodes of Charmed on TNT and had a bagel sandwich while drinking lemonade and then looked at my email on my cell phone." Woo! Tune in again tomorrow for the exciting conclusion!
Perhaps if I were interesting, people might be clamoring for me to constantly update, but then again, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or some such blather. I could be updating under my real name: Zanzibar Buck Buck McFate.