A More Bloggy Entry
So I'm not into writing essays about the political climate. And I don't have interesting and clever things to say about the heads of business and how they're fucking things up. Neither am I a true geek who can offer enlightening shortcuts to all things web and media. Even as a technical writer, I can't decide whether to capitalize 'web' or not (oh, how the debate rages on!).
Lofty aspirations left on the roadside, I'm going to do here what is simply more me, and that is the unoriginal but compelling chronicling of my own daily life. I'm kind of embarrassed that I kidded myself otherwise in the first place. Why be ashamed when that's the very stuff I love to read, anyway? I love diaries and personal musings of other (interesting) people. And since interest cannot be created, only attracted by like minds, that part is really out of my hands.
So, I'm sitting in my home office on a Thursday night, writing here instead of packing, cleaning, or otherwise readying myself for the trip I embark on tomorrow. Taking the Amtrak to Chicago at 4:25, and I CAN'T WAIT! I think I already posted the details of my little journey. Want to hear the fear?
I'm afraid that I won't be cool enough for the three talented ladies I'll spend two days in a van with. They are two incredible singers--one that bests even Liza Minelli--and a very talented artist. They don't wear make-up. How do I fit in, with my mascara and big hair? I have a Priscilla Presley theme (early, married-to-Elvis, Priscilla) going for the trek, and maybe it will seem just something enough to count. Intellectually, and in most ways altogether, I get that I stand quite well on my own; have proven my talents, etc. But there's that ugly funked part that bobs up to take over on occassions such as these. Sometimes, not always. Likely not this one, but venting the worries is better than letting them fester in my neck muscles.
It will be a great time, and I'll save the freakiness for my writing. :P
Lofty aspirations left on the roadside, I'm going to do here what is simply more me, and that is the unoriginal but compelling chronicling of my own daily life. I'm kind of embarrassed that I kidded myself otherwise in the first place. Why be ashamed when that's the very stuff I love to read, anyway? I love diaries and personal musings of other (interesting) people. And since interest cannot be created, only attracted by like minds, that part is really out of my hands.
So, I'm sitting in my home office on a Thursday night, writing here instead of packing, cleaning, or otherwise readying myself for the trip I embark on tomorrow. Taking the Amtrak to Chicago at 4:25, and I CAN'T WAIT! I think I already posted the details of my little journey. Want to hear the fear?
I'm afraid that I won't be cool enough for the three talented ladies I'll spend two days in a van with. They are two incredible singers--one that bests even Liza Minelli--and a very talented artist. They don't wear make-up. How do I fit in, with my mascara and big hair? I have a Priscilla Presley theme (early, married-to-Elvis, Priscilla) going for the trek, and maybe it will seem just something enough to count. Intellectually, and in most ways altogether, I get that I stand quite well on my own; have proven my talents, etc. But there's that ugly funked part that bobs up to take over on occassions such as these. Sometimes, not always. Likely not this one, but venting the worries is better than letting them fester in my neck muscles.
It will be a great time, and I'll save the freakiness for my writing. :P
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