What I Really Think Of You
So I’ve been thinking about writing this entry for awhile now. Ever since Christmas, in fact. But I’ve been busy and tired and unmotivated. And as you probably know, the longer you don’t write, the harder it is to come back.
Work is good. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m inherently lazy and hate waking up in the mornings, only to head to a job that doesn’t allow me to pee out my morning coffee whenever the hell I feel like it, it would be Really Good. But for now, it’s just good. It’s getting hot and I get sweaty and gross on a daily basis. My hair is never pretty. I’m getting a wierd mailman tan. My arms, from wrist to the end of my sleeves are a shade darker than the rest of my body. I’m betting that this will get worse as the summer progresses. I have a couple of things to cover in the world of mail.
First – those of you with pretty flowers around your mailboxes – please please get rid of them! Flowers are nice and all, but you know who else likes flowers, aside from you and I? Bees. I’m not very tall either, so according to anatomical drawings of Leonardo DaVinci, the fact that I’m short in stature means that my reaching distance is also abbreviated. And so to deliver mail to you flower people, I find that I sometimes must trample in bee territory. Not my idea of fun.
And second, mail carriers are not human road maps. If I’m eating lunch in McDonald’s I surely don’t want to spend the entire time telling you where the local Sights To See are. We drive on the right hand of the truck. Don’t pull up alongside the left of the truck and expect us to simply roll down the window. There’s no way I can roll the window down from the right side. They don’t come equipped with power windows, in case you were wondering. I can’t even reach the door handle from the other side of the truck. Don’t get pissed when I don’t know where the party that you’re going to is. Really. Especially when you don’t know the address. You have no business even leaving home when you don’t have a clue where you’re going.
Aside from work and not writing, you may have also noticed that I’ve moved things around. Again. I’m thinking that I have a thing for starting all over again. I decided that moveable type is again the way to go. So much for entries formatted by hand. When I set up that last format for the journal I was oddly thrilled that I would be able to control all the entries independantly of each other. Nevermind that THAT is stepping backwards in the technology of the www. It was somehow Really Cool to me that all this work would go into each and every entry. I’m thinking all that work had something to do with the fact that I haven’t written since Christmas.
The wayback machine has released my Sept 11 entry, which, starting with its title, is filled with cheese. Still I’ve put it back into the order of things here. There are so many entries that I’m missing – many are ones that I thought were so important. I can see them in archived versions of my archive page, but the individual pages that actually show the text aren’t making themselves available to me. It only pisses me off a little bit, mostly because I get really excited when I see the archive page that never used to show up, containing entries that have fallen off into cyberspace, come up on my screen, giving me a false sense of retrieval confidence. Making sense? Didn’t think so.
It’s okay, though because *I* understand. And like I was telling DJ earlier, I live in a bubble, with me at the center, shielded in a layer of ignorance.
Folks we’ve got months of silenced me coming to the surface. And no, I’m not sorry about that.
Not being sorry is another thing that I need to talk about. You see, I’m tired of this politeness sham that seems to be running rampant on the internet. Message boards with messages that start out in “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” and poorly executed snark (Pamie knows what she’s doing and I clearly do not, so there will be no snarky wit from me because I’m not the talented and smart girl Pamie is,) “uh, thanks for sharing.” COME ON PEOPLE. You know there’s more you want to say. You know you want to tell people to check their ill-fitting egos at the door because there’s no room for bullshit like that here. And “Yes, I do want you to take this the wrong way. That’s exactly how I mean it.”
I so want to participate in THAT forum. The one where we talk and get along and don’t worry about how she will *feel* when she reads the mean mean things that I said. Grow some balls and let your honesty shine, people. That’s all I’m trying to say.
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