01-11-2002 @ 10:25 p.m.
Holy cow--I've really stepped in it now. My last entry generated a lot of traffic and some misinterpretations and, well, it was just plain interesting to see where it went and who read it.
A few things--first, I think a diary, online or otherwise, should be only what the writer wants it to be. It can be deeply insightful, shallow, amusing, entertaining, hilarious, whiny, ranty, pissy, disturbed, and/or any combination of the above. There are no "shoulds" in a diary. If you are writing it and you like it, good. That's all that matters. I'm delighted with my diary--it serves its purpose which is to chronicle my foibles, my irritations, my napping habits, my travels, my thoughts--my life. When I first started writing this, I really hoped no one would read it, and then one day, HerWorship listed me as a favorite and I got such a charge out of the idea that someone I'd never met was reading my stuff. Over the past 9 months, I've been favorited and unfavorited many times. It really never bothered me before until last weekend. I think it's because when I was dropped by one particular reader, it was the first time that someone I had listed as a favorite had dropped me. And he said I wasn't cool. And he said my diary wasn't insightful. It really shouldn't matter what he or anyone thinks of my diary but that bothered me. Especially because *I* think I am immensely cool. I mean, when I walk into a room, people say "There's Lobotomybabe--the coolest redhead ever." Really. They say that. So to be told by someone that I wasn't cool was just, well, uncool. Whatever. He just doesn't know what he's missing is all I have to say on that.
Second, I don't think that you need to be Jack Handey, Deep Thoughts man to keep an online diary. Good Lord--look at all the rubbish I write. Except for the I Love Trinity part. :-) That said, I am a snob about some things. I require that regular rules of grammar and spelling be adhered to. If I see any IM-speak, I'm afraid I turn around and run. It's my curmudgeonly aged crustiness and my bachelor's degree in English and my twelve years as a technical writer. Reading strangled English is like listening to a Middle School band concert. Mary can attest to that one. Both parts of it.
Third, there is no third. I can't even remember what else I was going to write. So here's the banal part. I rearranged my house today. Since the Christmas tree is gone and the boxes of Christmas decorations are safely esconced in the garage until next year, I felt compelled to do some arranging. When we acquired a piano in September, I had to change things around so that it would fit in my living room but I have been unhappy with the arrangment ever since. So, I slipcovered my big chair and a half, got some new pillows, pressed a side table into use as a coffee table, moved the antique radio around to the dining area, set up a little tablescape on the new, much smaller dining room table (in an effort to keep it from becoming a repository for things that come into the house, like mail, that have no immediate home. I was pretty happy about it when I finished it.
I'm in the process of converting our living room into a Room Where Grown-Ups Live. It's quite a challenge. I need to work on window treatments. If you have any ideas on inexpensive, not-trying-to-be-pretentious window treatments--something airy and ethereal--let me know. I could use some inspiration and I'll be damned if I go ask Martha and her freaking beekeeper for ideas.
Tomorrow is International Dinner Night. French. Mmmm. I'm making chocolate creme brulee. Doesn't that just sound wonderfully decadent? I'm going to gain back the 6 lbs. I've lost. Damn.
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