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Sunday, Sept. 15, 2002 / 7:51 p.m. ~This Is Ridiculously Stupid~ I think if you don't like what I write I simply don't want to know about it. If you agree with my feelings on certain issues, or subjects, or passions, fine, it's nice to know, I suppose. And I am not starting this as a slam to anyone, it's not like that, it's just that I have read several notes, emails, guestbook signings, etc., from people who tell me they enjoy what I write, but they like to make it a point to let me know they don't 'agree' with all of it. Know what? That's not necessary. You don't need to tell me that. I don't recall asking you if you agree. There is the element of a popularity contest here, what with 'buddy lists', or 'favourite diaries' or 'favourite entries', etc., but really this diary is important to me because I can look at it when I want, I can go back and read it, it's me, it's whatever spills out any particular given moment, and to know that other people read it is sometimes thrilling, in an exhibitionistic way, but not always so great. Again, no insulting here, just a realization after I read what she wrote in my guestbook, that's all. It just sort of hit me, that she's not the first person who felt some bizarre need to clarify that she does indeed enjoy that I write whatever spills out, although she doesn't always agree with it. What? Is that like when I was reading about one person cutting herself? She wrote it well, but, er, I don't agree? Is it like that? Or is it like reading Jerry Falwell? Does he write well? Do you enjoy the way it all spills out, but you don't always agree? I don't know, I don't understand. I think the more I'm thinking about it it is actually pissing me off, and that was not her intention, and she/you will read this, and don't get all pissy and leave me a funky note saying you'll stop reading me if I want..... if I want. Do what YOU want. I don't know why you read me. I don't know why people who are nothing like me read me. If you hate tattoos, or if you hate that I can be crude, or I can say fuck a lot, or I write about my periods a lot, or when I'm horny, or when I 'fingerbang' (thanks to 'central-red' for that term!) at work, or I am an Anti-War Activist, why are you reading this? I don't get it. When I wrote about the reverse racism at work someone took me off her list. You know what? Fine. You know what her diary was like??? She takes those tests, you know, which member of "Trading Spaces" are you?, or which "Powerpuff" girl are you, or whatever, and she devotes an entire entry to the result. She doesn't write. She's in high school. I liked her format, her layout, I added her, she added me, that's how it goes. It's stupid. It's juvenile, I know this. I know this whole site is planned for kids. I'm not a kid, though I often behave like one. Look, just don't tell me you don't agree with me. It's like this, if you have nothing nice to say, just don't say anything. I had a big email argument with someone about this one time, because he insisted on challenging everything I wrote. He argued with me about how I feel about organized religion. Why? It's my opinion. Why do you want to argue with me about my opinion? It's a diary, I said, it's only my diary, I don't write for the Washington Post, or Religion Monthly, or whatever the hell. Sometimes I just really don't like Diaryland, sometimes I just really don't like that I am writing this, here, and I question why. It happens maybe once every two months, or every month. One day maybe. When I want to stop, to delete it all, and it's sparked by a word, or viewing my stats, or some such shit. I just don't see it. Why do it? Why bother?? Why waste your time if that is how you feel? You sit and read a book and hate it all the way, but you read it anyway? Have I done that? Perhaps. It's not you, it's not one person, understand that it is cumulative. It is a combination of remarks, of notes, of words left behind for me, and for what possible benefit? I don't even want to be here now. I've been enjoying my day. My last day. Only two you know. I work for a living, I work so I can afford to sit here and do nothing for two days. I sit in a fucking cubicle dealing with assholes all fucking day just so I can do this, not always just this, add some movies on digital cable too. I just watched "Wild Man Blues", again. I watched it last night, but missed a bit to come in here and write some email. I love watching Woody Allen and Soon-Yi together. Traveling around Europe, Woody playing his clarinet on stage, it was delightful. He seems so genuine, so humble, so fucking neurotic. But I knew that. This all seems so insulting, I know that, it just really got to me, that's all. Here comes the apology, and why? No doubt you'll be all offended, and why am I writing to anyone here? Just don't write to me to tell me you like this that or the other thing and then tell me..... but you don't always agree. So the fuck what? I don't want to know that. I don't care. This is not written for you. Well, this is, this right here. But the rest???? NO. As I told Mark the other day, Mark who thought I'd written something in here to appease him, or please him, no, I wrote it, but not thinking you'd read it. It's not like that. I'm not writing to anyone. This is for me. I may think you'll see it, but most people skim. Yeah, stats prove it. 10 pages in a minute? Please. Why bother? You skim, you know you do, I'm writing and writing, and I realize it's drivel, and you come along and you have your finger on the mouse, you're on that scroll bar, I know it, I can see you doing it. So the fuck what? I'm over it. Add me, subtract me, this is ridiculously stupid. Cost of the War in Iraq
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