tell us how you really feel.

< back | up | next >

12 february 1997

7:23 p.m.

Dear diary, How long has it been since we've really talked? We've been together for ten months now. There were times when I couldn't wait to tell you about my day; when I'd sit down to share and four hours would disappear. But there were also times when I almost dreaded the thought of you. I don't mean to sound hostile. Lord knows the limitations of our relationship make it difficult to clearly convey through electrons what I want to say with my eyes, or with a sigh. It's just... during this last separation, I did a lot of thinking. I enjoyed being away from you, and I hated myself for it. Listen. I want to have you in my life. From day one, I could sense that I was dancing with something profound. And to say that you haven't brought me an ark of treasures -- good friends among the most priceless -- would be a gross understatement. But when did I stop talking to you and start talking at you? When did it shift from reflection to a sometimes insufferably shallow performance? More and more I put upon myself the burden of trying to entertain you. Sometimes I resented that burden (though it only existed in my mind), and more and more I felt I was coming to you only to make a deposit, rather than making an investment. No, I'm not a naieve, innocent idealist. Heck, I'm a double Leo, and broadcasting my thoughts worldwide is right up my alley. I knew others were following my adventures, and I shamelessly ate it all up. Indeed, I'm not the first to grapple with the bare-bones logistics of this lifestyle, nor am I the first to come to terms with the ego-swabbing benefits it offers. But a few days ago, while I was basking in the glow of the young year's most awesome sunset, I realized those benefits had somehow become my only motive. I realized I had to knock myself down a few notches. Take a few steps back toward reality, and away from my unfortunate natural tendency for showing off. I want to tell you how I'm living my life, without getting bogged down in producing it. That's all this is really about, I guess. Maybe it's all a cycle. Maybe accumulating a thick buildup of indifference and arrogance over time is normal. Maybe a few more months down the line, I'll again be tossing out gimmicky Hawaiian lessons (plus German, Japanese and French for good measure) hoping to get a chuckle. Maybe tomorrow I'll regret having gotten all introspective in the first place. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm experiencing an flash of earnest enlightenment or an abberant zit on an otherwise passable ongoing monologue. At worst, I've stumbled across an excuse to tweak these digs a bit and give you more space (is everyone's computer screen this wide?). At best, maybe I'll learn to trust you to endure a simpler, perhaps coarser, me.