July 26, 2000where's my bromo?
I think this is the first time I've really commented about my role in the journalling community here, for good reason. I long ago gave up the idea of trying to be a player in that community and have since settled down into this outlet for my creative and neurotic ambitions and tendencies. I acknowledge that pretty much only real life [or those that just became RL friends] read this journal. There are a couple of people who read it that I know of and maybe have made some form of communication with, but I could pretty much count the total readership on my fingers [maybe my toes, if I just want to pump up my ego]. I realized early on during the Girl Friday experience that I wasn't going to be able to keep up the frenetic pace that I did in My So Called Existence...if you call that frenetic.
So here I write when I want to write, when I have inspiration [read: when my frelling muse starts drunkenly babbling at me] and let it be. I hope that the people that read this journal read it because they think it's funny, insightful, ha! or whatever, but that they get some amount of enjoyment out of it.
There are those that think it's bad or something that I do spurt entries and then leave them hanging for periods on end. Here's my answer to that. I read a few journals, not as many as I once did. I get update notices from a few, and then go back and read them all when I really have time to enjoy them. I check in on a few daily since that seems to be their style, not mine. I recognize that if there isn't an update in a protracted period of time that maybe RL got a hold of them and they can't, won't or don't want to write. I respect that.
I write when I have something that I feel I need to to say or to share. In my life for the past seven months, there hasn't been all that much to share. My daily witticisms are often lost to the four winds [though I love my Post-Its and am seen scribbling on them often], and my life generally consists of going to work, school or both and then coming home and dealing with my father, sister or both and watching massive amounts of teevee that is rotting my brain [or making me more snarky and creative, as I've noticed] and reading/responding to the Farscape Shippers List. Do readers really want to hear about that? Because I don't want to write about much that falls under the Mundane Column, I figure people don't want to really read about it either.
I also cut out a lot of the more personal aspects of my writing from this journal. If one were to look back at My So Called Existence, they'd be able to make a clear distinction between the two. I wanted to be able to give this url out to friends, and just people I think are cool that I meet in real life. It's not so much censoring myself now, it's more about having a forum for my writing and what I perceive as my wit, rather than a 'bare all to the world' kind of place.
That's what I see this place as, and since it's my place, I'll do as I please. I feel like Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke, though I've never seen the show. Sorry for the inconvenient rant. I felt maybe I should explain some things and this morning seemed as good as any.
Oh, and here's the explanation of why I dropped Fiona:
The point of a pseudonym was to make a break with the old and forge ahead with the new--totally. I achieved that in my mind so I went back to Käthe, my real name. Fiona was an aspect to my existing personality that I wanted to concentrate on and bring out. Having succeeded in that, I have no need to go by Fiona unless I'm getting hit on by skeezy guys. Hee.
Now I'm off for my non-nutritious breakfast and to scrounge more pictures of Ioan Gruffudd from the web. It's a good way to spend the morning.
