I have no internet connection at home. I don't know when I will again. My DSL provider blames my phone company, who in turn blames the DSL provider. It sucks.
I'm writing this at work, and will lose my job if my boss find out, so that's all for now. Please, bear with me.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
On the Importance of Navels and Hope
Hello world, and welcome to my brain. I hope you enjoy your stay – someone here ought to.
So begins Purge, my foray into the world of blogging. I suppose there's nothing more appropriate for an insecure exhibitionist, and I guess it's a wonder that I haven't started one sooner. If you're looking for a name, you won't get one. Those of you who know me or recognize the picture can just feel lucky to have found your way here, and kindly not mention anything you read should we interact in the real world. This is not a place for tact or discretion. Hence the name. This is where all the ugly, hurt things inside get to come out and play, and I don't have to worry about causing any kind of damage. In theory, none of you know me. Hell, in theory, no one will ever read this but me. All the same, feel free to leave your comments and feedback, but for God's sake, don't leave anything identifying. The name of the game is anonymity, and it doesn't work if I become a real, live person with a name and a family and a belly button. Just let me be one more drop in the sea of Great American Dropouts, a twenty-something loser with little better to do than whine to anonymous strangers.
For the record, self awareness is a bitch.
Statistically speaking, I'm a 23 year old white female, single and living with a boyfriend who may or may not still be here in six months. I like to write but lack both the talent and commitment to get published, not that I've had the nerve to try. I grew up in a smallish Texas town packed to the gills with hypocrites and illegal immigrants, and learned very little there past a lasting hatred for high school football and organized religion. I'm something of a Mexican food connoisseur (if such a thing can be said to exist), and I suppose I can chalk that up to the home town, too. I'm too smart to fit in with most crowds, but was too dense to finish college while the grants were still there. I've made a grand show of oscillating between over- and under-achieving throughout most my life with consistently bad timing on both, and so have little to show for myself in a job interview or on a date. There are good things about me, I'm sure, but you'd have to ask my therapist for a list of those. I'm not entirely aware of them at the moment.
Pessimist? Damn right. Optimism is just the primrose path to crushing disappointment. Furthermore, it’s been a very bad month, and I’m taking this opportunity to wallow. All the same, I do believe in hope, and every now and then can scrape together a bit of it for myself. For the most part I tend to hand it out to others, as I find that easier to handle. I prefer to keep my nose to the grindstone of self-analysis (which in a more flattering mood I might dub self-improvement) and try not to get caught up in believing happy, convenient lies. I'm lonely a lot, but I lack the social skills to keep most friends around, so mostly I just deal with it. I sometimes cry for no good reason. I fully believe in (and try to consistently practice) kindness to strangers. I'm something of a wimp. I hate lies and broken promises. Also, I like cheese, but who doesn't?
Still curious? Even morbidly so? Check back every now and then, and I'm sure eventually there will be something interesting. Also, you can leave inappropriate, angry comments demanding more, and it just might get you somewhere. You never know.
P.S. Kristiana, you comments can be angry without being inappropriate. I wouldn't blame you at all. Still, I have missed you, and wouldn't mind catching up.
So begins Purge, my foray into the world of blogging. I suppose there's nothing more appropriate for an insecure exhibitionist, and I guess it's a wonder that I haven't started one sooner. If you're looking for a name, you won't get one. Those of you who know me or recognize the picture can just feel lucky to have found your way here, and kindly not mention anything you read should we interact in the real world. This is not a place for tact or discretion. Hence the name. This is where all the ugly, hurt things inside get to come out and play, and I don't have to worry about causing any kind of damage. In theory, none of you know me. Hell, in theory, no one will ever read this but me. All the same, feel free to leave your comments and feedback, but for God's sake, don't leave anything identifying. The name of the game is anonymity, and it doesn't work if I become a real, live person with a name and a family and a belly button. Just let me be one more drop in the sea of Great American Dropouts, a twenty-something loser with little better to do than whine to anonymous strangers.
For the record, self awareness is a bitch.
Statistically speaking, I'm a 23 year old white female, single and living with a boyfriend who may or may not still be here in six months. I like to write but lack both the talent and commitment to get published, not that I've had the nerve to try. I grew up in a smallish Texas town packed to the gills with hypocrites and illegal immigrants, and learned very little there past a lasting hatred for high school football and organized religion. I'm something of a Mexican food connoisseur (if such a thing can be said to exist), and I suppose I can chalk that up to the home town, too. I'm too smart to fit in with most crowds, but was too dense to finish college while the grants were still there. I've made a grand show of oscillating between over- and under-achieving throughout most my life with consistently bad timing on both, and so have little to show for myself in a job interview or on a date. There are good things about me, I'm sure, but you'd have to ask my therapist for a list of those. I'm not entirely aware of them at the moment.
Pessimist? Damn right. Optimism is just the primrose path to crushing disappointment. Furthermore, it’s been a very bad month, and I’m taking this opportunity to wallow. All the same, I do believe in hope, and every now and then can scrape together a bit of it for myself. For the most part I tend to hand it out to others, as I find that easier to handle. I prefer to keep my nose to the grindstone of self-analysis (which in a more flattering mood I might dub self-improvement) and try not to get caught up in believing happy, convenient lies. I'm lonely a lot, but I lack the social skills to keep most friends around, so mostly I just deal with it. I sometimes cry for no good reason. I fully believe in (and try to consistently practice) kindness to strangers. I'm something of a wimp. I hate lies and broken promises. Also, I like cheese, but who doesn't?
Still curious? Even morbidly so? Check back every now and then, and I'm sure eventually there will be something interesting. Also, you can leave inappropriate, angry comments demanding more, and it just might get you somewhere. You never know.
P.S. Kristiana, you comments can be angry without being inappropriate. I wouldn't blame you at all. Still, I have missed you, and wouldn't mind catching up.
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