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12:40 p.m. - 2005-05-31
Purple Pens are the Best Kind.
I remember when I got my very first diary. It was pink. And it smelled like candy. And it had three different colored sections…pink, yellow, and green. The pen I used to write with was a ballpoint with purple ink. Later, when I've gone back and looked at it, the words spread and brightened into a fuschia color. Just before I received it as a birthday present, I had been reading books where the main characters kept diaries…so I used those as "examples" of what things were appropriate to put into mine. As a result, the first few entries have very little to do with my thoughts or feelings. They're what most of us would call "day-logging."

Later, I became more honest. However, I was always somewhat afraid that someone would pick it up and read it and know I was crazy.

In one of my many moves over the years, it disappeared. It may be in one of my boxes in storage. I hope so. While what I wrote was sometimes juvenile, sometimes crazy, sometimes stupid…it was all still parts of the girl I used to be.

As you may have noticed from the lack of consistent updates lately, I've been feeling a little uninspired. So I went back and looked at some of my previous entries. That's when I realized it. I'm still doing the same thing! I read blogs of other people, some fairly well known in the blogging community, and I think "I can do that."

Being that my introduction to Diaryland was through PorkTornado's album covers entry (like everyone else), I of course thought that the way to attract readers to my little corner of the internet was to be as funny as possible. My first entry was a true-life story, but the next few were rants about pet peeves, etc. I fancied myself a comedian, I suppose.

Then some people started adding me, so I'm thinking "hey, your strategy is working."

At that point, I started adding more people. And then, I started feeling like a completely uninspired drooling moron, and wrote some serious stuff.

I'm still not sure what direction I want this diary to go…or if it needs a direction. Maybe I feel like my life has no direction, and, since this is my chronicle, it has no direction either. And I don't understand how some days, I feel like I am the sole intelligent being on the planet, but other days, I feel dumber than dirt.

Since I'm currently in one of those "I am a completely untalented asstard with nothing whatsoever to say" moods, I'm going to take a cue from Clarity and Betchy and ask for some feedback. Here is a survey. It's built right in, so you don't have to click somewhere else. Take it, please, so I don't feel like I always did in PE in elementary school when no one wanted me on their [insert name of any sport] team.

A Loopy Little Survey

1. You are:


2. How old are you?

Under 15
Over 55

3. How did a nice girl like you end up in a place like this?

Diaryland Buddy
Blog Explosion
Other Blog-Pimping Search Engine
You're My Friend in "Real Life" and I Made You Read It
Bizarre Googling
Non-Diaryland Blog Link
Some other way

4. Politically, are you:


5. Cat person or dog person?

Complete sucker and have some of both

6. What's your favorite entry in my diary?

7. If you read but don't comment, why not?

8. Do you have your own diary? If so, what's the URL?

9. What is your geographical location?

10. If you could give me some advice, what would it be?

11. What's your theme song?

12. Your favorite quotation, song lyric, movie line, etc.?

13. Do you prefer it when I'm funny or when I'm serious?

Make me laugh
Make me cry

14. Have I ever made you change your mind about anything? If so, what?

15. Anything else to add?

My final thoughts for today: I like blogging. You get to see perspectives of people who are totally different from you. You get to know that some of your crazy little thoughts maybe aren't so crazy. And you get feedback from people who may see you differently than you see yourself. What I find the most ironic about this is that we're judging people based on what they choose to share…but sometimes I don't think we realize just how much is revealed in what we write.



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