Well, that's not true. I'm a readaholic, or a diaryaholic, or something along those lines. I'm addicted to reading other bloggers. I'm sure that anyone on my list who checks their stats counter thinks that my IP address is a bug; for a while, I would check my favourite blogs six or seven times a day. (For those interested, I'm the one at uwsp.edu) I really hated it at school for the first few months (which isn't to say that I'm enjoying myself now), and spent most of my time in front of my computer, hoping, praying that someone would update, and that I could live vicariously through them, since life sucked so much for me at the time.
I'm not that witty. I had odd reservations about posting anything about my sex life. I'm sort of a homebody, but it's not self-induced. I'm far too self conscious to post any pics of myself. I rarely if ever have any great insights into the human psyche. I don't have an overlying theme, unless you count pretentiousness, pseudo-poetic posts, or weak literary references. I have a livejournal for the random link and quiz result.
And so I try. I emulate and fail. I fancy myself an aspiring writer (as most English majors do, I imagine) and one thing that has been bludgeoned and bludgeoned into my head is that I should keep a journal and write daily. While I do post something over at the livejournal most every day, I don't think anyone actually considers what I write there important in any way, and I don't really think that's what my teachers meant.
For all those people linked, I think I may have left a comment or two at a handful of the sites, and bandied an email or two with another handful, but none of them link me back, and I think I'm fine with that. I haven't really done anything to deserve recognition yet at this site. I'm not looking for recognition here. (Or maybe I am. Otherwise, why would I link them in the first place?) I haven't given this site out to any of my friends, and most of my inbound links are from blogsnob (or another blog linking directory) or from a comment left on another webpage.
I haven't really made this page public, and I don't think I want to. At first, the blog's secrecy was due to my indecision with the HTML; I modified the template myself, and my knowledge of HTML is basic at best, and so I slowly taught myself how to make the changes that I wanted. I still haven't decided if I like the layout or not. Then it was that I only had a handful of posts, and I wanted to build up a cache before I let people read it. And now I don't know what's keeping me, except for a desire to create an online alter ego.
Um, I think that's enough insecure and self-doubt for one post. I'll continue this later, maybe. I'll leave you with something Virginia Woolf wrote. I read this in a blog somewhere, but I forgot whose. I like posting something vaguely artistic with every post, and this is slightly on topic, so here we go.
What sort of diary should I like mine to be?
Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly,
so elastic that it will embrace anything:
solemn, slight or beautiful that comes into my mind.
I should like it to resemble some deep, old desk,
a capacious hold-all in which one flings a mass of
odds and ends without looking them through.
I should like to come back after a year or two
and find that the collection had sorted itself and
refined itself and coalesced --
as such deposits so mysteriously do -- into a mold,
transparent enough to reflect the light of our life
and yet steady, tranquil compounds
with the aloofness of a work of art.
