*** THIS BLOG IS NOW ARCHIVED ***
[all views/opinions on this blog were held in may 2010 or before.
some are still held, but only the awesome ones.]
one.hundred.sixty
well, i guess i don't have anything to say.
or rather, i guess the internet is not where i like to speak these days.
no twitter, facebook, or myspace in my life. and although this blog is sitting here, i don't use it. even writing this entry feels strange. who am i talking to? i feel a tad crazy.
i've had some amazing things happen to me since i stopped posting my thoughts and feelings online. i've had great days, and evenings, with friends; i've started some new hobbies; my health has improved significantly; i've received hand-made gifts from friends overseas; i've read some incredible books; i've reclaimed lost memories; i've reclaimed lost art; i've met someone...someone very special.
and yet i haven't posted about any of it. i haven't wanted to. i haven't even thought to. if the brilliant things that i've experienced haven't resulted in a blog post, then i have to accept that nothing will. when i shut my social networking pages down i wondered why this blog survived, and what i would do with it, but i haven't really done anything. [again, who am i talking to? this feels so narcissistic and weird.]
ah well, public internet expression served me for 6 1/2 years. it started with black planet [i know], and it ends here.
time to take a bow.
exit stage left.
say goodbye to whoever i'm talking to.
buh-bye.
one.hundred.fifty.nine
oh, hello blog.
how have you been?
it's been so long.
do you still wear your hair the same way?
do you still love views and comments?
do you still have something to say?
one.hundred.fifty.eight
am i supposed to pretend that whitney's still got it?
am i not allowed to say that she looks a mess?
am i not allowed to point out that she sounds like
she is smuggling gravel in her throat?
oh. i didn't get that memo.
she can't blame this on bobby.
one.hundred.fifty.seven
as the years pass, and everything continues to change, i am becoming more opposed to defining my life in terms of what i do. i have been many things in my 28 years [cashier, receptionist, administrator, management information assistant, service development officer, manager, publicist, journalist...], and i have wanted to be many more things.
that's life. it moves, it breathes, things are born and they die, be they professions or dreams. and so this question, "what do you do?", is outdated to me. it doesn't necessarily tell us anything about someone that points to who they are, or who they will be in the future. i know that i'm a writer, and that i'd like to be able to feed myself from my talent, but when i'm asked what i want to do with my life i don't see myself in front of a computer, or with pen and pad in hand. i see myself in the sunshine, running on a beach, laughing with friends, and lots of other hedonistic things.
i'm know i'm over-thinking this. i know that when people ask "what do you do?" they are not asking you to sum up your existence for all eternity, but still, the romantic in me wishes the only valid answer to this question was "live."
one.hundred.fifty.six
you know a song is special when you've had it in your itunes for two weeks and it is already #10 on your most played list.
allow me to share it with you. eternal thanks to the friend who shared it with me.
one.hundred.fifty.four
you know what's worse than not having a valentine? having an unwanted valentine.
you know what's worse than having an unwanted valentine? having more than one unwanted valentine.
yeah.
*insert violin playing here*
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