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3:44 p.m. - March 13, 2003
Awww. I'll pat myself on my back, thank you very much.
Today�s previous entry was not one in which I asked for my head to be pat, was not an attempt to elicit, or solicit as the case may be, smarmy messages playing the tired theme of You�re a great writer, Jason, please don�t stop. If I wanted to elicit such a response, don�t you think I could devise a way more cunning and less blatant than thinly-veiled slop? When I decide to stop writing, you won�t hear a peep until after the fact; I much prefer slipping away quietly.

I thought maintaining this journal would help me somehow because I could take chances yet remain safe in a way I couldn�t with my pen-and-paper writing; in my paper journals I wrote specifically for an audience and each entry is well-crafted, just like the essays I wrote for a grade, analyses on books and politics and olla podrida more Anna Quindlen than me, designed to make me look good. The more private entries I wrote in another journal and would rip the pages out afterwards and shred them and how easy to deny thoughts when there�s no record remaining? I am not proud of my writing here at Non-Descript or Bigsky the way I was of my paper journals because I do not write here explicitly for an audience and I cherish this about me, am proud that I can disregard the temptation � or need � to write scholarly, with wit, to be literary, to demonstrate my intellectual mettle. Yet it would be disingenuous to say that I am unaware of those who read my (disorganized) thoughts here; I am all too aware and waver between the desire for complete anonymity � no readers, no Site Meter, no guestbook or guestmap � and the warming feeling of knowing there is a community of sorts who form a net and my free-fall is not permanent. People like Lori, Maya, and Twids who I keep at a certain distance, though not as far away as I keep others, people I want to know better and this desire to reach out means a great deal to me, it�s my pattern I�m leaving across the sand. This photo is one I�ve had for a while now and I always intend to incorporate it into one of my site designs but I hold back, because it means a great deal to me.

You can see why.

The guestmap is a comfort to me, this journal is a comfort to me. And � surprise � I distrust comfort. I distrust people like Tim the Emailer, Andy, Kuinileti, and I push away when threatened by the knowledge that there may be people who want to know me because of all the comforts, being comfortable with people is the most threatening and difficult. Yet also the one most wanted. And the journal has facilitated this realization, though I have far to go. Lately I�ve been curt (read: Rude or A dick) to a few people and if you�re reading this, I apologize; yes, much easier to apologize anonymously than in person, I realize.

Little steps like responding to emails � who knew it could be so fun � and even talking on the phone with a facinating self-professed queen who says my voice is very masculine in a way that I�m unsure whether it�s good or bad. And meeting people, though that one seems most insurmountable. And writing in this journal even if it doesn�t impress � or better yet, because it doesn�t � because at least that means I�m committed to being myself in at least one place and perhaps, in time, it will carry over.

 

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