Why I'm here

As advertised, here I am again. Tonight I sit (well, sprawl) in my chair, trusty laptop humming away on my lap, headphones hugging my head, and a can of V8 (which is both half full and half empty; the former because I still have half a can available to drink, the latter because I'll miss it once it's gone) at my side.

Once again I'm alone in the room, the TV is on - mostly obscured by my computer's screen - with no one really watching (Dancing with the Stars winning only occasional glances from me). One of the little ironies of my home life is that I rarely turn the TV on, and yet I usually end up the sole person near it while it's on. Usually it gets no attention from me whatsoever - I despise most programming. Seriously, what happened to great shows like the Cosby Show, Knight Rider, Seinfeld; the times when Eddie Murphy was a skinny little comedian doing his Velvet Jones act and impersonating James Brown on SNL? (And Star Search? The Smurfs? Rainbow Bright? The Care Bears? Saturday morning cartoons that weren't dominated by Anime influences?)

Take this with a grain of salt, cuz I'm an old soul.

My evenings are spent online; cyberspace dominates so much of my time that it's hard to make any distinction between Real Life, Secondlife, CoH, Blogspot, or whatever else I may feel like dabbling in. It's also hard to prioritize my time amongst them all. Usually Secondlife and CoH get the bulk of my time - SL more so since more of my friends are there. But tonight after having done a little random web surfing, I felt pulled to come here and write.

I like writing, and I consider it to be one of my stronger points. It's not that I'm greatly gifted in the technicalities of English, it's just that I have the gift of being able to communicate on a person-to-person level. And I suppose that, in a way, I'm writing my story. This is my ongoing story: one blog, random posts. The subject matter may (and will) change from time to time, and there may not (and likely won't) be any clear thought progression from one post to the next. And such is my life, such am I. Yet if there is one constant to which I hold, it's my need to be known - I desire it over most other things in life. Paradoxically, I don't consider myself a very knowable person. I dislike too much attention, I'm not fond of popularity, I shy away from mass social encounters. I mostly stick to myself. (For God's sake, I spend most of my time clutching a Dell construct of plastic, metal and flowing electrons.) When I venture out, it's for groceries or coffee (we just got a Peet's!! I'm SOOO happy!), or to the music store, or the bookstore. From all appearances, you'd think that I enjoy my solitude. And I try to, but usually to no great success.

So when I say that I want to be known, understand that it's not me vying to seize my 15 minutes. In all honesty, I expect that most everything I write will be skipped over; I don't broadcast to friends and family (or anyone for that matter) that I have a blog. Not hardly. I come here to blog because, in a way, I feel that each post is a little note I'm writing to some unknown person...as if I'm stuffing notes into bottles and letting the ocean's currents take them wherever they may. And I guess my hope is that maybe, just maybe, someone stranger might come along, read what I've written, and feel a familiar chord struck in their being; so that they pause and think, "Wow, I know this person." That is being known; and that is what I desire. I'm not afraid to admit that I find the greatest fulfillment in that.

I only wish I could translate the things I feel and think into a more coherent composition. And I say "translate" deliberately, because thoughts come to me in the form of feelings and pictures, and to describe them takes time and, well...internal deliberation. Sometimes I wish I could just plug my heart into someone else's, so that they could experience first-hand the things that abide there - beauty, anguish, longing, love - instead of reading my wordy "translations" of those things, which are a dull echo at best.

Love. Taking away all pretense, and whittling this thought process to its pointed end, that is my motivating force. Yes I want to be known, but to be known in the way that I seek it...it becomes synonymous with love. For when one person knows another, in all their heights and all their depths, and still desires to know more, what other name would you give it?

Alas, I've waxed into the deeps...I'm always in the deep end. :) Now do you see why I don't socialize much? Haha. I'm not so proficient in the light-hearted, superficial subjects that pass as acceptable fodder for comfortable social situations. (Hell, people hardly even know what I'm talking about half the time. If that statement puzzles you, just re-read the sentence that precedes the parenthesis.)

And my growling tummy tells me that it's time to wrap this up. I hope you (whomever you are) enjoyed reading this; I hope you understood it...at least some of it! I had fun writing it :)

And so ends yet another page in the chapter, in the book, in the volume of the chronicles of my life - what it is, has been, and will be.

Woohoo! My first post here!

Well it's about time I geared down (or up, depending on how your mind works) and posted something to this. Fun facts that come to my head for this initial post are as follows:

1. No one will come looking for my blog.
2. This blog will only be read by people who either came here by mistake or were mindlessly surfing the web.
3. The chances of item 2 happening are minimal.

So? This is my desert island; I'm fairly alone here. Basically that means that my writing here is therapeutic. It gives me an excuse to spend even more time online...haha. As if I didn't already....

But you know, after having so many friends who complain and complain about how they can't get away from customers/acquaintances and enjoy their online time as they once did, I've come to reason that anonymity isn't a bad thing. Sure, I could probably deal with a little less of it, but on the whole it's a good thing. (I'm no megalomaniac.)

Am I writing to myself though? No. Ironic? Perhaps.