Thursday, September 13, 2012

Mixed languages

I feel like my life has been put on hold. I don't have time to breathe; I'll have to breathe for two next week, to make up for lost viver. (Tip: mix languages to create nonsense)


Right now I'm grieving the loss of my first and best blog. It was called Flummish Behaviour, and it was pure brilliance. That's not me tooting my own horn, so to speak; that's just me appreciating how ambitious and well taught in the art of bullshit I used to be. I wrote long posts about occurences that had never occured, and gave critique on important things, like Eurovision Song Contest and the color of the inner city buses in my hometown.
The problem was: my readers were all members of my family. My parents read it. My siblings read it. My dad's ex wife read it.
I got IRL comments about mistakes I had made, or things I "maybe, probably, possibly shouldn't say because of potential consequences in my adult life" and so on, and so forth.

One night I got a call from my dad, who simply HAD to mention that I had mixed something up, and given false information in some way.
I freaked that night.
I freaked the fuck out.
I deleted my blog.

I deleted four years worth of genius nonsense.
Four years.

Before that I had always been very strict in my stance against "you shouldn't write that". I always refused to delete posts, no matter what I had written in them.

....Except for this one time, when I (for some reason) decided to write my first and only emo/angst-post, about my utter lack of hope and will to live.
That post died about 2 hours laters.
Oh, the shame I felt about feeling feelings and all that.

Today I regret my decision. I regret most of my decisions. But that one, especially. That one.... haunts me.
Don't get me wrong. I love throwing things out. I love giving things away. I love the feeling of owning less objects, because it makes me feel free-er. It gives the illusion of zero responsibility and accountability.
But deleting that blog was like deleting my 15-year-old self.
She may have hated herself, but I appreciate her for the weirdo she is. Was? Uh, who am I kidding. I've barely changed at all.

Lesson: Throw away all those magazines you've already read. Give away clothes you never wear. But keep your thoughts; because in five year's time, you might need them again.

If anything, it could provide some poor, bored sucker with a few minutes worth of entertainment. Schadenfreude and all that.

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