Somehow I missed my eighth anniversary of my blog two days ago. I guess I was only thinking about it this morning, on the eighth anniversary of the National Bummer. I think this is a good sign. My blog is like a person that will always be around, unless it isn’t, and I can abuse it and take advantage of it terribly. Of course I would never treat a real person like this, but somehow this site has become corporeal for me, at least in my head–a collection of lips and assholes and squishy things and dead baby jokes and issues with comma placement. I imagine it as a seething mass in the sun like something in the corner of an unrealized Dali painting.
I will tell you, in year eight, the real reason I started my blog in the first place. I fell in love in 2001. Wrong time and wronger person. I don’t regret it. I would tell you that story, but it is like every time people fall in love. I realize now that this was a major nail in the coffin of my marriage. There were lots of nails before 2001, and I wasn’t always swinging the hammer. There were more nails after. Every day in a marriage is the Beginning of the End unless you can manage to shut the fuck up and go to sleep.
Being in love affects people in different ways, and it’s different every time, don’t you think? I fell in love and since it was so wrong it made me realize how lonely I was, in my marriage, and in my life. This is a cliche, I know, but sometimes we have to live them. Some of my most affecting moments have been cliches, because we have to step though the collection of human experiences, right?
I knew could use this as a confessional for all the horrible things I had done to those I loved, and those I did not, when what was behind the words was how desperately sad I was. Then I got less sad. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that will happen when you are 24. I kept going and then it was about my life, or a version of it anyhow. I was finding out things about myself and slicing away at all the layers. Unfortunately bullshit usually grows back almost as quickly as you can hack away at it.
Let’s have an exit interview or something, though no one is leaving.
What has happened in eight years? I suppose I could rattle off a summary or timeline of major events. I have gotten paid to write some, and in theory I am somewhat better now, but I’m not sure. It’s different. I have had low quiet battles with desperate scrabbling bitches, many of whom do not have websites anymore, through no effort of mine. Some people like me more and some people like me less, caused in large part by these words. I will leave it at: I am older.
What is this blog about? This blog is about being in love with words and yourself and other people, and also being very lonely, sometimes all at once. What I am learning is that, yes, we are always lonely, or at least alone, and it’s about how we deal with that. People leave us, feelings leave us, ultimately we are with ourselves. These words are part of me. This blog is about being with myself.
Is the author more or less of an asshole now? More, but I am better at hiding it and feigning remorse now. Also, slightly more reflective about things. The author is still smug about not carrying ads, though nowadays this is like being smug about not ever wearing pants. WELL DONE, EVERYONE KNOWS YOU’RE MENTAL AND NO ONE CARES.
What has this blog achieved for the writer? Catharsis. Paid work, sometimes. A skeleton for my crowded closet. Ego boosts and ego demolition. This blog has NOT gotten me laid. I hustle like a three legged donkey, I know. I am less lonely now, and more okay with times that I am. It is a little thread out into the universe of people all living their cliches, so thanks for that. Thanks for reading.
As usual, your writing makes me think, inspires, and touches me. Thank YOU. The whole thing about being with oneself, and learning that is okay…yes. I hear you. Fall is such a reflective time; in some ways it is the beginning of the year more than Jan. 1.
I completely agree about fall. I always feel tested by fall and winter here, so everything else is gravy.
Autumn whispers to us of our own mortality. The natural response is to eulogize yourself. That’s what any of us would do if we could be conversant at our own funeral. Happens to me every year.. until it doesn’t.
I am sad when you don’t write, so thanks for being the wet blanket upon which I can comfort myself.
I was afeared the whole head lice thing broke you! Far out. You’re back.
I had this whole sentimental response written to your post about “why do you write” and then I realized it was so very cliche. So thanks for this:
“This is a cliché, I know, but sometimes we have to live them. Some of my most affecting moments have been clichés, because we have to step though the collection of human experiences, right?” So true.
So, as cliches go, thanks for the authenticity and the unathenticity and the good and the bad humor and the fine reading. Happy National Bummer Day and better yet Happy Asshole-versary.
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Ah, thanks for the reply, and it was Just One Louse. :D
Oh thank the giant head of Tom Cruise for that!!
SJ…I have to thank you for your writing. Your blog is always a source of comfort to me, it makes me feel less alone in the world – so thank you for that.
I have been loving your blog since I started reading it a couple of years ago. Thanks for writing!
It is my pleasure.
I don’t get anything out of this blog at all! Your writing does not make me think, and if it did, it would make me think angry thoughts! I have no idea why I keep reading! The whole podcast thing is a giant mistake, and I hate it and I never go back and listen just because it makes me smile! Can’t stand the goatse banner! That shit is just not funny! ETC.
TODAY IS OPPOSITE DAY.
FYCL ILU.
eight YEARS… holy crap.
so glad you are around, SJ.
Thanks for blogging!!
PS. Whatladder, son used to love to play opposites.
You = teh awesome. Thank *YOU*!
Whoa! This is an anti-bummer. I’m glad you blog, SJ.
“They might say love is only trouble, we’re both too drunk to steer it. We may never be angels, but we’re lousy with the spirit.”
I think that your writing has gotten better because (as I remember it) in the beginning you were telling stories that had a beginning, middle, and end, and maybe they had even been told before, just not written down. So you had an idea of what timing to apply, you’d already planned where hit the punch, stuff like that. Now I think you’re writing more in a flow than a structure, and it feels a lot freer, and when you throw your fist out nobody sees it coming. It’s like… before you had a style that was conforming to your idea of style, and now you’re working more with your own actual style.
I love you just as much today as I did the first time I read your blog, which is I have no idea but a long long time ago. xoxoxoxox
Hey thanks everyone, and thanks Anne, and let us not scrutinize the archives.
Oh, SJ. Happy Belated Bummer Day! Your post on why we write made me think that if we could SEE the crappy stuff we were going to have to WORK through to be GOOD at writing (or painting), wouldn’t we quit? I’m glad I didn’t think about it like that when I was starting out. Also, probably good I feel COMPELLED to write.