Real World Confessional

So, as always, I'm sure there's a lot of opinions out there about this blog.

If you're a friend, you may think that this is a great way to catch up with me, or that this is a desparate cry for help.

If you're my therapist, you may think that this is circumventing $125/hour session/per post and/or that this is a desparate cry for help.

If you're an ex, you may think I'm still a narcissistic, commitmentphobic asshole with great musical taste, a/o ttiadcfr.

If you're a disorient friend, you may think that i'm remarkably well-adjusted and glad i'm not on k while writing this.

If you're my mom, you might be glad i'm not genetically related to you/glad that somebody else raised me (as appropriate).

If you're a board member of the Zoloft/Prozac/Welbutrin/Sleepingpill conglomerate, you may be laughing while doing blow off of your nanny's boobs.

If you're still here, thank you. Knowing that there's actually people out there makes my life a lot less lonely.

Mainly though, this blog serves 5 functions near as I can see it:
1. A place for expression that I don't get to share with others, or I don't choose to share with others while I'm in their company.
2. A surrogate for a spouse that would ask me how my day had been in between Jeopardy rounds.
3. A cheap mix-CD replacement technology.
4. A way of dog-earing things in my life that I wish to remember but don't trust to my short/long-term memory.
5. A call to arms.
6. A call to inaction.

Things to know:
1. I mythologize and objectify, often just to simplify the stories. Thus, Brent, the Art Director, who is Mormon, becomes The Mormon. B___ the Crush, becomes The Crush, a yearlong symbol of fruitless hopes. The Cubs become The Cubs, though America has mythologized them already. And so on, and so on. I don't mean to dehumanize anyone, but you can't let a simple thing like other people's emotions or the truth to get in the way.
2. It's a very hard line to walk between sarcasm and joy and no irony and irony and mocking and honestly the usual ratio of intoxication to post precludes much of this.
3. I don't feel comfortable posting about anything romantic unless I feel they're over their feelings/never felt anything/or don't know about the blog. Unless it's a part of the mythology(see 1, above). I don't like hurting people, and I'm not looking out to add my reputation or stature as anything. If anything, I hope that this humanizes me when I'm cold.
4. Much of this is a mockery of boredom. Much of this is a testament to grandeur. Much of this is self-mockey. Much is self-aggrandizement. I've still no idea how to reconcile any of these ideas.
5. I wonder if this is a healthy thing for me, or a thing that might seem like it's healthy but hides a lot of problems, or merely a semi-desparate cry for help. The thing that worries me is that Blogger erased all of my (real hurt) Post-Crush traumatization in April 2004. WTF is that? Is this some weird take-off of Wargames or Electric Dreams?
5a. I apologize for being not a blackbelt in 80s pop culture. I have to look those past things up.
6. I absolutely am amazed that anybody can get past the idiosyncrasities and whoo-hah and enjoy this. Same goes for people that I date. (Section 11 - I Stand Amazed - The Polyphonic Spree soon to be posted here.) I apologize in advance for not being more normal like Alf's owner; or more trainwreck like James Dean.

7. Ba-daam-daam-da-daam-Ba-da-dum-daaaaaa-dum. And on and on! On & on!

Peace. Thank you for everything.

PS Here's a secret to me: If you ever tell me how you hurt or why something is hard for you, I'll never be able to turn you down in relation to that. I hate to see people hurt, and if I see it, not the "I need a $$$$" on the off-ramp kind of pain, but real hurt, I'll give the world to you. Ask Troy and The Lanes about the 1998 Tuxedo X-mas bonus story.

Look at all of this narcissism and conflicting self-loathing/self-aggrandizement. Somebody go buy an Echo & the Bunnymen CD. They're good at this kind of thing, too.