Note: This was written around 3:30 PM today, not at the 11:30 PM it is getting posted at. Is this relevant? I don't know.

I'm sitting on a lawn chair in the backyard of some house that I'm at. I feel like I've had a hard day. I can't even remember which song I picked for today, right now. Maybe if I try hard.

Oh, yes, the song Elastica ripped off to make Connection.

I live in a world dominated by truthiness. I would elaborate on that but I realized something today, like I seem to every day, that I can't stand explaining myself anymore. I used to spend so much time just explaining myself to myself (which was "the public" when I had my public journals going for all those years) in the hopes of understanding myself that it's, well, not at all surprising that I have no idea what is going on.

It's always been comedy at my expense. (I can't believe I am typing this all entirely on my G1.) I've never minded that fact, because for a long time I believed "there's no such thing as bad publicity" and "that being entertaining is better than being boring". I can't say I ever made any decisions for the express reason that I figured the experience would make for an interesting story, but I've certainly used "it's entertaining" as an excuse retroactively to justify lousy experiences I've had.

I've used my ability to write publicly on the internet, and the excuse that people actually seem to read it, as a way to cope with and basically absolutely ignore the larger issue at hand, which is that I am a fucking idiot. If I just internalized all my difficulties instead of recording them to the internet and forgetting about them, maybe I'd be less inclined to play into my foolish belief that someone, (be it people on the internet or my friends in real life), anyone, finds it all so fucking interesting.

The truth of the matter is that most of the things I do don't make any sense. The other truth is that there are some truths that I've learned to never reveal, no matter the circumstances. There's no use explaining myself, because even if I could tell you the whole truth, it still wouldn't make any sense anyway.

Lately I've been getting a lot of questions along the lines of, "How could you possibly have changed so much over the last six weeks?" and for the most part all I can say is: I don't know. I feel like I woke up to something, something bad that is inside everyone, something that has been sabotaging my life and relationships from day one. The funny thing is when I say it, it seems silly: expectation. People who don't understand really really don't understand. People who do? There aren't many of them.

People think that I like talking about myself, but really I am just scared of conveying the wrong message. The internet is so rife with miscommunication. A simple five word sentence can have a single meaning when spoken aloud, clarity gifted to it by additional context, but when written down, it can take on numerous meanings. Assumptions kill the real meaning out of written word, things we think we know about the writer, things we think we know about the world at large.

There's no amount of written word that can compare in meaning to the look on a person's face when they speak to you. When people talk about how text messaging, email, and the internet are killing our ability to function socially, I see now that this is the reason. There are so many arguments I could have avoided, so many opportunities I could not have missed, had I not relied so heavily on the written word. I can write a good sentence, but it's not going to tell you what I mean.

Of course, we've already established that I don't make any sense anyway. I was told recently that I fall into the 'artisan' class of person, which I haven't done any reading into, but from the sound of what I was told, artisans are ethical and moral shapeshifters. I feel a lot of the time that I am constantly molding and shaping my worldview in order to align it with my emotions and feelings. Cognitive dissonance is not a warning sign that I should change my actions; it's a sign that I need to change my thinking.

What does any of this mean?

It means that I am tired. I am tired of being misunderstood by other people because I don't understand myself. I am tired of my reliance upon the attention of others, the internet who watches and nods silently while I ride on my rollercoaster of bullshit, to justify my ridiculous actions. I am tired of sabotaging myself by screaming what I think and feel at the top of my lungs all the time, usually before I am even certain about how I feel. How many times have I quickly reviewed an album only to discover that upon repeated listens, I feel entirely different about it? Way too many times to count, really. Why haven't I realized this before?

I'm still sitting on this lawn chair. I wrote this all on my phone while sitting here. It's another skill I have: I can probably type over 60wpm on this stupid thumb keyboard. Why the fuck? I don't know how typo filled it all is, but we'll see.

In short, fuck the internet.

I <3 music.