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So, the message was in the email... time to put up or shut up. The first year of D-Land almost in the can. Amazing. It has been absolutely impossible for me to put together any kind of journal on paper, in the past. Actually, it looks like I'm allergic to paper, anymore... as little drawing as I've been able to bleed out recently. But the proof was in the backup, last night. I'd been avoiding looking back into my earliest entries... wary of what nasty little demons might lie in wait there. Laughably, the same ones I've got now. That laugh would be one of sacrasm. So much for progress... with some things, at least. So little dead skin I've shed. Yet, the brooding atmosphere pervades... and the umistakable feeling that there's a second act to this operetta has still got me jumpy. Too bad I couldn't just lift the veil, just a bit, and know what to prepare for... instead of being cast about by the wind. Such a caprice, this life. Capricious too, the mood swings over the course of a year. I've laid off bitching about political things, recently... thinking that nobody else, save the well-reasoned few, gives a shit about anything else but the here-and-now. The majority, continuing to kiss the Boss' ass... which should be good and chafed, by now. Watch me... I've been reading about fundamental Christians packin' for Iraqin'... if ever there was a reason to get irate, the holier-than-thou do it for me, so well. And the fuckers are still invited into my house when I'm not there. That has to be grounds for divorce... maybe not in the south. God. Dammit. I've been wondering if it wasn't time to to put a lid on this diary... go out there and be somebody. It's disturbing, thinking that these little contacts are so fragile that stepping beyond the keyboard into reality... a voice, a sight, a touch... might make them blow up or away with the slightest wind. The thing is, some pretty real things have happened because of this daily pecking... people I'd never have come in contact with any other way. It just seems... criminal to let it go, without thinking, even though it would be so easy to never type in the usename and password again. If only confined to pixels on the screen, the human touch is still undeniable. Even if it leaves me more hungry for the real thing. I've got a few more days. Everybody needs a vent for the pressure cooker. |
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