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Two years ago, I joined Dreamwidth. And then I wandered away. I'm back like so many others because of what is happening at Live Journal.
The creeping intrusions by the Russian ownership had been a concern even before this latest upset. How can a site whose existence is built on individual expressionism think bans and censorship is ok?
Thankfully, we have choices. And I choose to start building a journal here.
I've never been a faithful journal writer. I find it much easier to post fiction than personal narrative but lately I've been finding expressing myself even in fiction difficult. I want to make an effort to push my comfort zone in this autobiographical setting in the hopes that it might free me up in the fiction side.
Yesterday I was out with my best friend of twenty years and she was teasing me about my driving like she often has. She says I drive like an old lady. I say she drives like a maniac. We're both probably about half right. One thing she said about my driving, though, stuck with me.
She was giving me directions (or rather her phone was, but she was its spokesman). At one point, she hurriedly told me to switch lanes and take the next exit.
I paused and asked her, "This exit?"
She said, "Yes!"
But it was too late. I'd zipped past where I needed to go. Honestly, I wasn't bugged. I figured, rightly, that we could just loop back around at the next exit. And we did. But she shook her head at herself and apologized for not giving me enough notice ahead of time.
"Of course we missed the exit," she said, her tone rueful, but with no blame. "You always hesitate."
There was no fault being placed. No complaint being made. Just a fact stated. And it wasn't only a commentary about my driving.
I hesitate. Over everything.
Often enough, life has given me another off ramp to circle back around and allow me to get to where I want to go, but too many times there is no going back. And the chance is gone.
I need to work on that. We only get so many chances.
The creeping intrusions by the Russian ownership had been a concern even before this latest upset. How can a site whose existence is built on individual expressionism think bans and censorship is ok?
Thankfully, we have choices. And I choose to start building a journal here.
I've never been a faithful journal writer. I find it much easier to post fiction than personal narrative but lately I've been finding expressing myself even in fiction difficult. I want to make an effort to push my comfort zone in this autobiographical setting in the hopes that it might free me up in the fiction side.
Yesterday I was out with my best friend of twenty years and she was teasing me about my driving like she often has. She says I drive like an old lady. I say she drives like a maniac. We're both probably about half right. One thing she said about my driving, though, stuck with me.
She was giving me directions (or rather her phone was, but she was its spokesman). At one point, she hurriedly told me to switch lanes and take the next exit.
I paused and asked her, "This exit?"
She said, "Yes!"
But it was too late. I'd zipped past where I needed to go. Honestly, I wasn't bugged. I figured, rightly, that we could just loop back around at the next exit. And we did. But she shook her head at herself and apologized for not giving me enough notice ahead of time.
"Of course we missed the exit," she said, her tone rueful, but with no blame. "You always hesitate."
There was no fault being placed. No complaint being made. Just a fact stated. And it wasn't only a commentary about my driving.
I hesitate. Over everything.
Often enough, life has given me another off ramp to circle back around and allow me to get to where I want to go, but too many times there is no going back. And the chance is gone.
I need to work on that. We only get so many chances.
