God I miss you
Oh, Livejournal. Capsule of adolescent memories, storehouse of embarrassing riches, tool for witless distraction. Your cornucopia of background patterns are neat but what I really love about you... is how old-fashioned you seem.
While meaningless Twitter bleeps wash over my unaffected eyeballs, I love to sink my teeth into a fat post by an old friend about babies or boyfriends or bank balances. I feel quite personal with the author for those few minutes, and then I move on.
It's much less of a fishbowl in here than within the stalkerish realms of social networking, where every unflattering photo tagged must be removed with haste, lest a marring pall be cast eternally over its subject. Five years of my life reside in here, consisting mostly of blemishes and faults, knowing that little padlock guarantees my confined readership.
When I first started chronicling my adventures as a high school student, it was a sort of testing device, "Are you there God, it's me, Natty." It's hard to say what drove that first entry--self-pity, boredom, curiosity--but I clearly never got over the allure of a blank screen and my small pond.
I find myself coming here less and less, though. Maybe it's just information fatigue from taking in news day after day and feeling at the end of it that there is absolutely nothing to say. But thank you all for being here, my digital crutch, and I know there'll come a day when I'll come hobbling right back.
While meaningless Twitter bleeps wash over my unaffected eyeballs, I love to sink my teeth into a fat post by an old friend about babies or boyfriends or bank balances. I feel quite personal with the author for those few minutes, and then I move on.
It's much less of a fishbowl in here than within the stalkerish realms of social networking, where every unflattering photo tagged must be removed with haste, lest a marring pall be cast eternally over its subject. Five years of my life reside in here, consisting mostly of blemishes and faults, knowing that little padlock guarantees my confined readership.
When I first started chronicling my adventures as a high school student, it was a sort of testing device, "Are you there God, it's me, Natty." It's hard to say what drove that first entry--self-pity, boredom, curiosity--but I clearly never got over the allure of a blank screen and my small pond.
I find myself coming here less and less, though. Maybe it's just information fatigue from taking in news day after day and feeling at the end of it that there is absolutely nothing to say. But thank you all for being here, my digital crutch, and I know there'll come a day when I'll come hobbling right back.