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7:42 a.m. - July 02, 2002
Purpose
The purpose of this journal is for me to be me and not be the me that you'd like to see. Too bad Dr. Seuss is dead, otherwise I'd send along that rhyme. This journal is where I'm open and where I put mental tumult into words and not where I put myself on display in hopes of attracting minions to exclaim Oh Jason But We Love You and other such trivial expressions. Yesterday's entry with its list of my perceived failures is how I feel and how I perceive myself and I was not expecting or wanting the flood of well-wishes and contrariness from readers cluck clucking their tongues at my self-image. This is my place for me to write about emotional gymnastics and I do it, for the most part, honestly; rather than lie, I omit, so what you see is what you get. Yeah, so my self-image sucks but it's me. And admit it, if you think hard about yours and am honest with yourself, so would yours. Everybody's does. It's just that I put mine into writing and I have people telling me I'm wrong?

This journal of mine differs than many because it meanders like drunk mosquitoes and I write primarily about myself, what's going on in my head and how I view the world through my eyes. I don't primarily write about others, what I did today, what I cooked, what I ate, or any of these things. I write to get to know myself and if that means taking a hard look at how I am, as I've been trying to do, then the best thing that can happen is that I develop my own sense of self and move on. Maybe you, being readers, don't see change, but I do. Yeah, it's slow; yeah, it's two steps forward, one sideways, three backwards, shake your leg all around, but I, me being the important figure in this dialogue of mine, I see change and improvement and that's good enough for me.

All last night I thought about what I wrote yesterday and while I would not omit anything from the list, I do not feel I'm as cretinous as what you perhaps picture. The facts with which I need to counter my perceptions are there scattered around, and part of the challenge is gathering them close and creating a viable pastiche. It doesn't happen overnight, folks.

I don't mean to sound defensive, but I am. First off, I dislike when people contradict, question, or disagree with me generally; secondly, not one of you knows me in real life (okay, fine, Twig and Bathsheba do) and you can't see how truly awkward and weird I am. If I'm not in front of a class teaching or signing, then I morph into a dork. That's the truth. Why be so afraid to admit the truth?

So I'm not suicidal. My mind will not crack under the strain of self-hate. I am not looking for attention, for cyber hugs or emoticons. What I am looking for is grounding, and that happens only when you have enough will to closely examine. It's like clay; even the finest white clay has little bits of grit in it, but you don't throw away the sack; you work with what you've got. That's what I'm doing, identifying the grit so I know what I'm working with.

That's all.

Have to rush.

Good thing the classroom is only on the other side of the green.

Hasta!

 

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