So in the moment of fear inspired by the realization that my blog now has readers (okay, maybe just one reader) and is "in the spotlight" so to speak (Thanks for the link IHJ) I noticed that all of my blog posts (all whopping three) tend towards the melodramatic, depressed, and just generally pathetic.Now, if you know me you will know that I am generally a thoughtful (pensive, not generous) individual who spends a great deal of time contemplating things that no one else even bothers to notice. It's me, it's who I am. In the last day I have thought about: the line painting in the BX parking lot, the reasons the signs right outside of the base are so different from the rest of the area, the most effective stanchion placement for the bank, the poor organization of the window screen boxes in the BX, the oddity of pick your own flower gardens and how they wouldn't work well in most of the US, that stupid little wood and nail puzzle that Jenn and Chris have, and about 100 individual reveries on the differences and similarities of the English and German languages. (Yes, Jenn, German is indeed the language you already know - sort of.)
So, as you can see by my list above, which, by the way, is in no way complete and is most likely missing many more inane conversations I have had with myself or the dog, there is nothing in there that tends toward the melodramatic or depressed. I leave the judging of 'pathetic' up to my reader(s). Yet, the only times I have posted previously the blogs have that overwhelming flavor to them. Obviously, I had to ponder this and here's what I've come up with:
Either A) I have very little to say about anything substantial going on in my life right now as 1) Max is not going through potty training nor his first few weeks in a big boy bed and 2) Darin and I have not visited anyplace new or special and while Darin has by himself, he's not likely to post about it and having not been there myself I'm certainly not about to tell folks what Norway, Washington, or Romania are like or B) I'm a lot more like the younger Madonna than I really want to be.
"What?" you are thinking. "Madonna? Seriously? Esther, with the big ol' gap in her teeth?" I know, I know, I came at ya' from the back alley, right? Well, I'll explain. When I was younger, almost half my life ago I would like to add so as to separate myself as far as possible, I revered Madonna. Worshipped her, loved her, wanted to be her. I don't know why - feel free to delve all you like. Anyway, during those long ago years I heard an interview with Madonna in which she was complimented on 'Cherish" and then asked why a number of her songs were so sad and if she felt that this was true of a lot of artists. Her response was that writing songs is cathartic and something you almost need to do when those sad moments arise, while the kind of joy you might feel that would inspire you to right a song like 'Cherish' doesn't really lend itself to dropping it all and sitting down and writing.
Okay, I'm probably giving her more credit than she deserves here and may even be saying more than she actually said at the time, but it struck me as true then and it still does now. If you think about it, how many teenage girls start a diary in that stage of early adolescence when everything sucks? Darn near every one of them from what I can tell. And yet it doesn't appear to be out of a great desire to become a writer because most of these girls stop writing in their diaries somewhere along the way and eventually find them when they are getting ready to leave for college, tucked away in a drawer or under their mattress, long since missing the little key that once allowed access to their deepest, darkest, secrets about how much they love (insert generic boy name here).
So, that said, it seems that the basic purpose that diaries serve is not to catalog all of life's moments, but to clear one's head of the crappier ones. All of this takes me back to the content of my blog, which everyone knows is really a diary of sorts. Most of my content has been written at moments when something was bugging me. Not something like the merits of preformed tube coin wrappers as opposed to paper sheets which one must carefully form into a tube around the ever slippery coins, but something more like "How long could I lie dead at the bottom of the stairs before 1) someone would realize I was there and 2) Max would start eating me?" You see, that's the kind of thought that you really want to get off your chest. Your not busy having fun with it, too busy to stop and write it all down. No, you're bothered by it, keep coming back to it. So what to do? Write it down for all of your friends to read and contemplate, of course. I mean, seriously, what's more interesting: Stories of the difficulty of finding just the right amount of vegetable matter to add to Max's diet to prevent constipation or delving into the neurosis in your friend (or acquaintances) head?
Right. Well then, I'll get on that story about Max just as soon as I can.
3 comments:
You ever see, hear or even smell something that suddenly brings back a long distant memory incredibly vividly even though it was completely forgotten up to that point? Well, congratulate yourself on two points: 1. You are absolutely right on journals as a avenue for catharsis, and 2. You have somehow cracked the complex combination that is my subconcious and accessed memories I didn't know I had. As I was reading your post I suddenly remembered that I had had a sudden need to pour out my soul, decompress, and then never think about it again. Not only that (and this is the part I can't believe) I suddenly remembered my user name and password that I only used once six years ago just so I could feel better because someone out there somewhere might be anonymously empathizing with my feelings. As reward for this amazing feet of memory retrieval on your part I give you a private look into the mind of Chris age 21. Wow, it's wierd to hear your old self.
Seriously, I still can't believe that site still exists. I don't know whether or not is comforting that thousands of years from now after the human race has died off that aliens may be paging through my college-angst.
Every so often (around the time of a move), I find myself reading through my old diaries. I have managed to add an entry or two each year, which give brief glimpses into the lives of my children. It is amazing to me as I go back through these old entries how far I have come emotionally, but more amazing is how much of myself is the same. Obviously there is growth, but the basic person is the same. Considering how much trouble I was in while I was a teenager, it saddens me to think (to use a horribly overused cliche)how misunderstood I was.
I, for one, love the insane attention to detail that is Alysn. I learned more about myself from you then anyone else in my life. I wish I could have returned the favor more often, but my gift is acceptance. I tend to accept people at face value and I when I met you I knew I liked you and loved your energy and your sense of humor and I figured that whatever life experiences brought you to my life was needful and part of you and just ...accepted. I miss your warped mind and the directions our conversations would go.
Chris, I visited your old site and was surprised to hear many of the male friends in my life use those same words. I never really trusted the pretty boys and so my guy friends were usually the "geeks" and "nerds". It helped that I was one as well :) Jenn is your lobster ;) While I love you each individually for the people you are, I adored you as a couple. Each couple forms a new personality that comes out when they are together and I love to sit back and watch the two of you. I can't imagine two people more suited for one another.
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