drink responsibly
Every so often I find myself staring at a blank entry page on LiveJournal, wondering if I really actually want to make a new post. I used to use this thing daily -- in fact, up to three times a day sometimes -- and now, I just find the whole thing slightly stupid, self indulgent and quite frankly, embarrassing.
"It's not you LiveJournal, I promise... it's me. I just don't think that we're good together, you know? Not for the long term, anyhow. We've had our fun, but I feel as though I've grown up and apart from you. I've found my path, LiveJournal, and there is no room for you on it." God, I don't think I'd be able to break up with anyone like that without laughing.
But really, I repeatedly want to, in effect, break up with my LiveJournal, because it has become a strange entity of its own that has taken up a lot of my time and mental energy. And... I would need to separate myself from it. Much like a lover, girlfriend, boyfriend or even pet cat. Nothing is built to last. Eventually the sex gets boring, your girlfriend turns out to be crazy, your boyfriend turns out to be boring as a piece of wood, and the cat... well, she dies. I crave death, in a sense. It's not as morbid as it sounds. Following death, there is almost always certainly a rebirth, so long as your heart is still pumping blood to all those organs and you still have your wits about your head. The eternal sleep is another thing entirely, but even still, no one exactly knows what happens when we do indeed depart from this world. Perhaps a new life of some sort begins then.
I want to delete this thing, or officially retire it, mainly because I cringe upon reading most of my prior entries. I've had this thing since... ah, 2004? I won't even torture myself by reading anything that stretches that far back. But therein lies the problem. I've had this thing for so long; I've documented a solid portion of my often turbulent and overly dramatic adolescence on this site. I couldn't imagine departing with it so permanently since it exists, even if it's just some random spec of dust in the dustiest corner of this here interweb. It's still my little dust spec. It's actually my whole adolescence, compacted into a virtual dust spec. Weird to think about.
I'm not exactly sure. In the end, it's not such a big deal, but either way. If I do save it, I want to use it, and write in it with at least some frequency, but... I don't at the same time.
I mostly feel guilty about writing in general these days because I do so little of it anymore. I was writing at least a poem a day this time last year. Even with being in school and having a job and a stormy relationship and intense insomnia and mixed episodes weekly... maybe all of those things inspired me to write. I don't have anything to write about anymore. I mean, I do... but, ah. I can't express myself the same way anymore. Or at least, not at the moment. The most I've been doing lately in regards to writing is editing my stuff. Lame.
It's depression. It's ambivalence. It's the 15 pounds I want to lose. It's my job. It's my mother. It's the little girl who stole my silly putty when I was 4 years old. It's the economy. It's the money I don't have and the places I don't have the means to see. Blah blah blah. It's everything and nothing all at once. It's the fact that everything finds a place in my head and has a strange habit of sticking there, leaving traffic and gridlock there, and piles and piles of useless crap. It's the fact that I've seemingly become this mentally soft, overly emotional and sentimental womanchild over the past year and I don't have the time to take care of her.
I don't know, maybe I'm more comfortable writing in here than I thought I was.
"It's not you LiveJournal, I promise... it's me. I just don't think that we're good together, you know? Not for the long term, anyhow. We've had our fun, but I feel as though I've grown up and apart from you. I've found my path, LiveJournal, and there is no room for you on it." God, I don't think I'd be able to break up with anyone like that without laughing.
But really, I repeatedly want to, in effect, break up with my LiveJournal, because it has become a strange entity of its own that has taken up a lot of my time and mental energy. And... I would need to separate myself from it. Much like a lover, girlfriend, boyfriend or even pet cat. Nothing is built to last. Eventually the sex gets boring, your girlfriend turns out to be crazy, your boyfriend turns out to be boring as a piece of wood, and the cat... well, she dies. I crave death, in a sense. It's not as morbid as it sounds. Following death, there is almost always certainly a rebirth, so long as your heart is still pumping blood to all those organs and you still have your wits about your head. The eternal sleep is another thing entirely, but even still, no one exactly knows what happens when we do indeed depart from this world. Perhaps a new life of some sort begins then.
I want to delete this thing, or officially retire it, mainly because I cringe upon reading most of my prior entries. I've had this thing since... ah, 2004? I won't even torture myself by reading anything that stretches that far back. But therein lies the problem. I've had this thing for so long; I've documented a solid portion of my often turbulent and overly dramatic adolescence on this site. I couldn't imagine departing with it so permanently since it exists, even if it's just some random spec of dust in the dustiest corner of this here interweb. It's still my little dust spec. It's actually my whole adolescence, compacted into a virtual dust spec. Weird to think about.
I'm not exactly sure. In the end, it's not such a big deal, but either way. If I do save it, I want to use it, and write in it with at least some frequency, but... I don't at the same time.
I mostly feel guilty about writing in general these days because I do so little of it anymore. I was writing at least a poem a day this time last year. Even with being in school and having a job and a stormy relationship and intense insomnia and mixed episodes weekly... maybe all of those things inspired me to write. I don't have anything to write about anymore. I mean, I do... but, ah. I can't express myself the same way anymore. Or at least, not at the moment. The most I've been doing lately in regards to writing is editing my stuff. Lame.
It's depression. It's ambivalence. It's the 15 pounds I want to lose. It's my job. It's my mother. It's the little girl who stole my silly putty when I was 4 years old. It's the economy. It's the money I don't have and the places I don't have the means to see. Blah blah blah. It's everything and nothing all at once. It's the fact that everything finds a place in my head and has a strange habit of sticking there, leaving traffic and gridlock there, and piles and piles of useless crap. It's the fact that I've seemingly become this mentally soft, overly emotional and sentimental womanchild over the past year and I don't have the time to take care of her.
I don't know, maybe I'm more comfortable writing in here than I thought I was.