The limits of a blog/journal/whatever the hell this is.

2005-07-14 at 5:17 p.m.

Having a public diary is very useful for when I screw up, someone I don't care about screws up, or the world screws up. There's something nice and cleansing about purging my frustration, rage, anger, disappointment, hurt, or heartache across the screen. Sometimes I can even turn it into something funny, and that's even better.

It's not very useful when someone I really care about screws up.

I've been very careful, when something deeply personal happens to someone that's not me that I care about, not to blah blah blah about it here. I've slipped occasionally, but that's only served to strengthen my resolve, because now I know how hurt one can be to read words, even those written by someone as relatively inconsequential as me, that exhibit for the world a weakness, a failing, or a frustrating aspect about oneself. And I'd hate hate HATE to do that to a family member, a friend, or someone whom I normally love and respect.

I itch, sometimes, to put into words some aspects of my life. But I can't. Not without potentially wounding someone I love as much as they may have wounded me, and in a far more public and semi-permanent way.

I'm dealing with one of those aspects right now. It's taking up a lot of my juice, really. Some things distract me, and for a time I come out of this cave of self-absorption (like yesterday in class--no offense to elementary school teachers, but the ones in my class all look alike, dress alike, and talk alike, and they all look, dress and talk like sorority girls--you can practically see the soap bubbles of their conversation popping on the ceiling, it's so light and effervescent. It was fascinating watching them, like watching a foreign culture. What's WITH that?).

Anyway, forgive me as I deal with that.

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