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Writing (or Setting Myself Up For Failure)
buzzed, B&W
hairylunch

I've actually really enjoyed the introspection, thought processes, and feedback I've gotten from writing the last two days.  It reminds me of why I first started this LiveJournal account, over 7 years ago.  LiveJournal used to be pretty popular, requiring invites (similar to gmail).  It also has a bit of a reputation for being full of emo teenagers  (unfortunately, I can't find a good link for this).  I'm not sure how many people would recognize the name now?

I'm going to try and write at least one significant entry daily for the rest of the month, a la NaBloPoMo.

The writing thing is interesting, as there's often so many ways to take a piece.  My dating post could have easily focused on the extended metaphor.  I could have put a completely humorous stance on it, or a completely bitter stance.  In the end, I went a bit more introspective, as I really just needed to process, and it worked for me.  (Another reminder of why I used to journal, both digitally and in the traditional manner, more frequently.)

If I were a more serious writer, the dating post would be a fun one to exercise with.  How over-the-top can I portray the absurdity / humor of dating?  Taken to the bitter extreme, how cynical could I be about the process?

Facebook has definitely changed the writing / audience a bit as well.  Because my LJ gets syndicated to FB, the audience has expanded considerably, and the feedback cycle has grown considerably.  A few thoughts on the comments and responses sent to me:

  • Justin (a friend from the Helena diaspora) pointed out that he was proud that I was dating, and no longer "asexual," attributing my previous lack of dating to fear of "romantic entanglements" . . . I tend to believe my lack of dating was more due to not finding interesting people, but he may be right?  It also made me laugh when he said "you seem to be looking at it somewhat seriously, as a grown up should. (Not that I should expect any less from you, but in this arena alone I somehow do.)"  I'm not sure if I'm more surprised by the fact that he thinks I'm mature, or that my perspective on dating is shocking to him . . .
  • Jake (who I actually have not met) agreed about the shinny wrappers
  • Josh (a high school friend of mine) pointed out that someone special tends to find you.  I agree whole-heartedly, and don't believe I'm hunting for a relationship.  If I find one, that's awesome, but I tend to approach most things with an open-mind, and a "let's see where this goes . . . " attitude.  Probably disappointing to some, who think I may be moving too slow for their tastes, but I believe if it's meant to be, it'll happen.  (A strange perspective for someone who tends to be as pragmatic as I am.)
  • Lisa pointed out that she thought the girl was a female dog . . . I'm overly trusting in general, and gave her the benefit of the doubt.  The whole Facebook syndication of this journal surprised me a bit, in that she saw the post and emailed me about it.  Looks like I was right, and she wasn't just crazy . . . merely human. 
  • Dan (another high school friend, who commented on LJ and not facebook) said "a better analogy is that the box in front of the tree is indeed a bike, but it was mislabeled with your name and it was really meant for someone else".  So many ways I want to respond to this:  the comment suggests that someone owns the bike, that someone is responsible for making sure the right person gets the bike, that there's a bike to be ridden, a Napoleon Dynamite reference, etc.  Anyway, while I get Dan's point, it does a fair job of pointing out that my metaphor treats the woman as an object, rather than someone with free-will to make their own decisions. (Though the idea of "owning" a partner has many intriguing aspects as well . . . )

Anyway, the vast majority of my posts will probably be either observational or introspective . . . and I'm already afraid of how difficult it will be to post daily.  Struggling to squeeze this one in today, and my schedule only gets more chaotic as the month goes on . . .

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