Life in an archive
Zorya, remember when we talked about blogs?It's an ineffable, queer sort of reflection/introspection to glance in blog archives and recognize someone distant, yet near--indeed, yourself in a distorted mirror. Reflections are frightening for people discontented with themselves [read: the idiot writing here], but then, yes!, the joys of not having had a permanent online home! From one perspective, it's a sad, lonesome thing not to have that warmth [oh, hold on, I think that's my computer frying] and security [darn firewalls setting!], but on the other hand, it is a sort of freedom. No, not a sort. It IS freedom--pure, simple, complete. The freedom that is not being tied down. No loyalty. No obligations. No self-doubt and fear and loathing and contempt for all the world, but mostly, mostly, at the end of the day, for yourself and everything you're trying to be. It is the salesman who sleeps in a different hotel in a different country every night. The woman on the street whose house can fit in a metallic, grated shopping cart. Ah, yes, the very epitome of liberty.
What made me think of this? And old friend sending an old link to an old blog by an angsty freshman! Disturbing, mostly. Also, on a similar note, I flipped through an odds-and-ends notebook of mine and found an interesting entry. I shall type it here to amuse myself.
Wednesday, August 4, 2004 19:53
She was shrouded in black--her choice of clothing, her mood, her expression, her posture. She wore her trucker hat low, the brim hiding her eyes, because she was afraid they would see, in her eyes, her sorrow and her desperation and her loneliness.
"Others had coped with deaths before, why couldn't she?"
Self-doubt has killed many. Grief and sorrow has killed many. Loneliness has killed many. She had all this, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying and that was all.
Hugging her knees on the grass, she listed to the clicks and the swooshes of the people she had once been envious of for their skill and who she was now envious of for their joy and their happiness and their peace. Tears started and rolled down her face, so she hid beneath her cap and between her green hair and behind her bent knees as she sat on the grass listening to the clicks and the swooshes and feeling utterly and completely alone and knowing that no one at all really cared and that no one had ever really cared.~
I want to dye my hair again, for no particular reason.
