i am so much more fascinating in speculation than i am in real life. so why do i bother writing about my reality?
i love reading others’ lives but i think there is now too much of my life i am unwilling to share with the general public to continue to journal. besides, what i do share has this cute little tendency to backfire …
i have considered writing here with the friends-only option, but that doesn’t fix the problem, merely delays it from annoying me for a little while. the “problem” is very simple: i don’t want my daily life to be on display anymore. what you see has increasingly not been what you get. i’m still me, but i don’t transcribe that “me” here very well. nor should i feel this overwhelming drive to do so. what’s a better use of my time, learning how to exist, or describing and justifying that existence?
so as all things change, this changes today. time permitting, i’ll keep up with the friends i’ve made here and the communities i’ve joined. i don’t regret sharing this much with you, but i may start regretting it tomorrow, or next week, and i’d rather not regret anything in my life.
“my life.” it’s funny to talk about it that way, after the vivisection. can i sew it up and breathe life into my life again?
i am fond of saying, “we shall see.”