In which I delurk

Current mood: contemplative

I was kind of afraid of the Internet. Don't get me wrong, I can't imagine life without email and GoogleTM, but I had almost a pathological fear about writing anything that, you know, strangers could see. I learned early on that written documentation can sometimes be a Very Bad Thing. Thus, happy was I in the land of lurkdom.

But, from participating first in a closed online forum (okay, a class. I like school. A lot. Got a problem with that?!), and then an (gasp!) open forum, I've learned that I, um, really like at least the illusion that other people are hearing what I have to say (and really, the Very Bad Thing(s) had more to do with the pushing of the Wrong!Wrong!Wrong! send button, rather than the actual writing itself). And the responses! Debate with strangers! The admiration and adulation! (Hey, I can pretend.) Which brings us to...

Lately, I haven't made anything, nor have I accomplished anything of note. I can't blame that on the soul-suckingness that is the greater D.C. area. In fact, I like it here and live a quiet suburban life that has little to do day-to-day with the government that really could be nearly Anywhere, USA. The problem is that I used to fancy myself something of an artist/craftsperson - I have, dare I say, created objects and sounds of profound beauty (yes, and also junky stuff and wicked unpleasant sounds). But, I've been rather spectacularly unmotivated for the past few years, and actually, I've been a wee bit depressed of late. I mean, when you find yourself actually listening to Kelly Clarkson songs and nodding your head thinking, "She's soooooo right. Tell it, girl!", you know that Something. Must. Change (I love you, Kelly!). Now! Don't be hatin' bloggers, but I don't think that this blog counts as an actual creation (hah! Just give me time to get addicted). I just think that if I have to confess to the Internet exactly how much time I spend on the holy trifecta of food web sites, Television Without PityTM, and playing Snood (and, rapidly encroaching to displace one of the mighty Three, random Myspace surfing), I'll be shamed into getting off my lazy a** and maybe doing something with my life other than developing a textbook case of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Or at least go to the gym, whatever. Using the old guilt factor (in this I'm practically Catholic) for good instead of evil or mild mischief.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm almost squeamishly honest (which is another way of saying a ridiculously bad liar) when dealing with other people. There's exaggeration, embellishment, and omissions galore, but outright lying? Let's just say that I'm not good at it (and sigh, my childhood and adolescence would have been epically better if I had been...). I gave journaling my thoughts a chance, and actually, my food journal is on its third consecutive year (heh, that might represent my longest and healthiest relationship in quite awhile)(also, what!? Don't you keep a record of all the yummy food you eat?). However, it turns out that lying to yourself and your diary is, well, stupidly easy. Here's where you come into play, lovely Internet!!!!! As long as there is the remotest chance that some real, live person could read this and call me out on my delusions of candor, I will have to stay scrupulously squeaky clean. Good plan, right? We shall see.

Oh, plus, I have a lot of random thoughts. Like, TRULY trivial cr*p that really isn't worth emailing your friends even for a moment of amusement. And yet, I think I'd like to hang on to some of them, if I have someone/thing to keep me honest. Who knows? One day I may be able to compile my thoughts into the next one-season-almost-hit, trashy beach novel. A girl can only dream...

So there you have it - a gentle manifesto.

Cheers!