(no subject)
I wrote an e-mail to my favourite online advice column today, asking for -- believe it or not -- advice. I know. It's a radical departure from expectations. Shut up.
Anyway, it's a weird feeling, sending a personal problem out into the inter-void, and then waiting for some kind of a signal. I feel like I just rushed naked into a room full of people, yelled out, "Hello!", and now I'm waiting for them all to turn around.
By the way, the problem isn't terribly personal in nature. But it's a long story, so I don't think I'll get into it here.
In a way, it's like a larger and more accute version of the feeling that often keeps me from updating this journal as often as I want to. I write stuff all the time, but I often decide that it's not good enough, or funny enough, and sometimes I hold back until something is totally complete... which doesn't happen. But every time I post something, I feel it go out there, still connected to me, but open to all of you, as well. A satelite version of my feelings, beaming messages to anyone who tunes in. (Cue sentimental plinky piano music.)
Woah. This veered wildly out of my control. I just wanted to tell you about my advice column adventure. The touchy-feely soul searching was just a gross bonus. And, after writing about why I sometimes write stuff and don't post it, I'd feel like an idiot it I didn't post this. Awesome, huh? Yeah, awesome.
Anyway, it's a weird feeling, sending a personal problem out into the inter-void, and then waiting for some kind of a signal. I feel like I just rushed naked into a room full of people, yelled out, "Hello!", and now I'm waiting for them all to turn around.
By the way, the problem isn't terribly personal in nature. But it's a long story, so I don't think I'll get into it here.
In a way, it's like a larger and more accute version of the feeling that often keeps me from updating this journal as often as I want to. I write stuff all the time, but I often decide that it's not good enough, or funny enough, and sometimes I hold back until something is totally complete... which doesn't happen. But every time I post something, I feel it go out there, still connected to me, but open to all of you, as well. A satelite version of my feelings, beaming messages to anyone who tunes in. (Cue sentimental plinky piano music.)
Woah. This veered wildly out of my control. I just wanted to tell you about my advice column adventure. The touchy-feely soul searching was just a gross bonus. And, after writing about why I sometimes write stuff and don't post it, I'd feel like an idiot it I didn't post this. Awesome, huh? Yeah, awesome.