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2002-05-13 - 2:42 a.m.

A friend from diaryland is leaving it behind. She said, diaryland is no longer the magical place for me it once was. And, seeing it there in black and white made me realise, for me either. It doesn't pull me in the way it did at first. Yet, I don't want to leave. Am I just nostalgically clinging on, for the sake of "the good old days"? Maybe. I've always been weak for nostalgia. But... I don't think that's it. I'm not sure I can explain it. Once again I'm here very late. I guess, I think that there's something very beautiful about the whole concept of diaryland, and if I'm not getting it, that doesn't mean it's not there. It just means I'm not really paying attention. It's like... I'm not a teenager anymore, and the things that gave me a big kick as a teenager (drugs, punk music, parties) don't really work anymore. But that doesn't mean my life is over. It just means I have to let go of those things, so that I can be ready to embrace the next round of stuff that life throws my way. Things just keep on happening, whether you like it or not. It's all temporary. It's all contingent. This diary, just as with my life, is a tiny speck of flotsam in a huge, raging sea. It will probably never get to be one of those specks of flotsam that is venerated and adored by other specks of flotsam, but that's not what really matters. This speck of flotsam, and no other, is what I've got to work with. If I decide to live, to wake up, to pay attention, then this is where I have to start.


Maybe the parallel with the diary got a bit broken in that extended metaphor, though. :(


"Who will remember, oh

Who will be sure?" - Richard Thompson

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