I think part of it had to do with my lack of stable social situation at the time...something that has changed - five years in one place has found me friends that I trust with those deep, dark, inner thoughts. I can do all that processing and obsessing with people I care about, who care about me - I suppose one could argue that I always could, but there's something about a face to face conversation that you don't get on the phone.

But there's something else to it, too....something about being so open with what's going on with me, especially considering that now I've linked my diary and my website...so there's no anonymity to hide behind. People can find out who I am, people I know can find out what I'm saying here. There's a level of transparency there that's a little scary. I mean, what does it mean to share so much? Is it a product of the "internet generation" that there's such a trend to post all those adolescent ramblings and poetry and variou sother nonsense out for all the world to see? Does it actually serve any purpose? Could the same thing be achieved with pen and paper, held for private rumination?

Another consideration is "net-friend-itis," a trend I've mentioned before, and one that kinda creeps up my ass a fair amount. I've come across it more times than I care to think about - where people assume they know me because they've read this diary, as if the entirety of my person can be encapsulated in words on the internet, even really well-written, witty words like I flatter myself can be found here. Anything I write here is only part of the story, part of the process, part of the truth about me and my life and my thoughts...and to assume otherwise basically reduces me to a two-dimensional caricature of who I really am. I don't think I've ever met anyone who wasn't more complex than words could express. (Now, sure, I could go get myself a LiveJournal - wait, I have on already that I totally ignore - and that way I could screen who gets to read what....but seriously, for me, I might as well go manual and write everything down in pencil.)

I say it again: the internet isn't real. But I digress.

So, yeah, I've been wrestling with this idea of writing here, and why I have been so persistent about it in the past, and why I've been so reluctant about it lately.

I'm not now and never have been a big fan of the Dixie Chicks, apart from growing some respect for them for shooting off their collective mouth about the Idiot-in-Chief. In fact, some of the music-related politics and attendant bullshit that followed them around Nashville turned me off to them and their particular brand of pre-fab chick pop country. Apart from "Goodbye Earl," I was never particularly impressed with their music either. Suddenly, though, I can't escape them. Over the weekend, I heard their new single....a "fuck off" song that I can totally relate to and respect. Then, they're all over my Time magazine with an article that actually makes them sound smart and sassy and cool. Finally, as I'm looking for info on John Mayer's upcoming release, I stumble across the fact that he contributed a guitar solo on their latest album.

So, I gave their new album a listen. Some of it didn't blow me away; just not my style. Some of it I loved (the single, the song with the Mayer, the title cut). Reading about it and them got my attention, though, and fed right into today's musings about this diary.

Also spurring on the mental hamster wheel, I caught some discussion on Air America Radio today about some recent developments in politics - the government is not only tracking all of our phone calls, but they're also looking into the possibility of prosecuting journalists for publishing classified information. Now, I don't want to go all 1984, but where in the hell is the free speech in that? What about that supports an unfettered, independent press, which speaks to the right of the people to question their government, and to be informed about the actions being taken in the collective name of "we, the people?" I'll tell you: not a goddamn thing.

So, with all these ingredients rolling around in my head, I have come up with a sort of conclusion, and maybe an answer to myself about why it's important for me to not only write down my thoughts and processes, but to do it in an open, public way. I'm not a multi-platinum recording star, or a journalist taking on a corrupt and fatally inept federal administration, but I matter. My experiences matter. My opinions matter. My voice matters. it's important to share it, because maybe it lets someone else know that they're not alone, that someone else out there "gets" it. It's important to express how disgusted I am with the state of my homeland, to share how I feel lost and lonely on the path of my life, to remind myself and anyone else who might stumble on my words that every day is an opportunity for greatness - and that greatness doesn't always look like something in a history book.

I don't know if it matters to anyone else, but it matters to me. I believe the fabric of this world is tenuous and fragile...and I believe that the only thing that will save it is a lot of people speaking up. And this is where I do that. Even if I'm only speaking up about how much it sucks to get a cold every fucking spring. That's a legit beef.

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

Recent entries...
27 December 2007: 2007: Finis.
17 December 2007: A ruse, a rant, and a poem. It's short.
11 December 2007: Music & falling....story of my life.
08 December 2007: Briefly...ish.
29 November 2007: A poem, a rant, a lesson.