Dear New Readers,
Where are you coming from?
For some reason hits on my blog doubled today, but I can’t figure out why. I didn’t even write about the bachelorette party on Saturday… Whatever. I’m a little down today–discouraged by my practicum, daunted by the start of a new quarter, perplexed by a certain LCD projector, and emotionally drained by some issues I won’t be discussing here (sorry). BUT, the day was brightened by a lovely dinner with one of my favorite people, and I think I’ll sleep well tonight.
I’m feeling really defensive right now, and I don’t want to get into it too much, but I will say this: I know this isn’t the most soul-laden writing by any stretch of the mind. I keep a journal for that stuff (when I write it down at all), and I write letters to specific people, and I talk to people. A lack of depth here (which there is and there isn’t) does not signify a lack of depth overall — that’s just not the overriding intention of this space. What I write here isn’t all of me, but it is certainly part of me… I hate feeling like I’ve disappointed or surprised someone, and I am oddly aware that I have… And it’s someone who(m?) I used to impress. C’est la vie, I guess — we grow up, we grow apart, together, apart again. Sometimes we’re so taken by our own fantasies of who another person might be that we fail to see who they actually are. Like most everyone, I am on both sides of this — fantasizing, not living up to another’s fantasies. Perfection is a fantasy — we should be content to look for the people whose neuroses complement our own… A person whose rocks in the head match the holes in yours (borrowed from a friend’s older relative who’d been married for an enormous length of time, and who also stated that he and his wife had been married so long they’d finished three bottles of Tabasco sauce — definitely a feat).