Hey, you!
Yeah, you!
... I'm not talking about you. Not this time.
You're starting to live your life for your blog, you know. You've already mined your past, and now you're starting to mine every day as it unrolls. You're viewing every event through a blogscreen, looking for that perfect nugget of information to share with your readers, trying to convert every experience into text and HTML.
And there's nothing wrong with that, really, except that you seem to be somehow less alive when there's nothing blogworthy going on. You've been bitten by fame, haven't you? That little bit of fame that the Internet affords you has gotten into your bloodstream, and now you only seem truly alive when viewed through the window of your blog.
I worry about you, sometimes. All right, I worry about you a lot. I can't help it.
Not everything can be reduced to words and pictures, although you're sure giving it a try. I worry that you're missing out on the indescribable by trying to share the describable with everyone.
It's supposed to be fun, keeping a blog. You're not supposed to fret when you miss a day. I worry that your priorities are out of order.
You've stopped talking about a lot of things. If I asked why, you'd tell me it was because you'd already blogged about that event, and so retelling it felt superfluous; by writing it down you'd crystallized the event, frozen it in virtual amber, and somehow insulated yourself from it. I worry that every blog entry you write is somehow cut from your flesh, making you something less than you were before.
By sharing your life with everyone there's somehow less of it for me. I worry that I'm selfish.
You know that I love you. We've been through a lot together in the past three years. You and I, we know each other, and if anyone has the right to be worried about you, it's me.
And I am worried.
But I'm not going to ask you to talk to me.
I'm going to ask you not to talk to me. Go out and have an experience solely for the experience, and then keep it to yourself. All your readers will live happily ever after without ever knowing that you did such a thing, and even if, in the future, you should break down entirely into text and pictures, you'll still have that one single shining moment that's all yours.
Please. Be selfish. ... for my sake.
How ironic.
Replies: add your comment: currently 3 comments
A Letter to yourself, enh? Or something. Maybe I should write a letter to myself. The only problem is, I can't write back to my past self...Heh.
Well, hang in there, Moon. 'S not so bad. Bloggin' is just fun, and well, it's okay to think about fun things and when you don't get to them. I do that all the itme with games, by God! Heh.
:3
Posted by Wolf @ 12/14/2001 09:18 AM EST
Looked like another rant (I'm getting rant-numb lately, is that just me?) but it's a personal message sorta thing - email on the wall, if you will... Hm. Anyhow... I dun' think it's Moon herself, Wolf; she'd've known herself longer than 3 years, you know. ;)
Posted by StB @ 12/14/2001 12:03 PM EST
Exactly what I needed to hear; thanks for the service with a smirk! :)
Posted by angie @ 12/14/2001 08:36 PM EST
