I don't get many comments here which is fine with me because I stopped writing for comments long ago. I write somewhat anonymously because I hate all the drama associated with blogging. I consider this blog my space and I write for myself because it's what I love to do. I know of a couple of people who read this blog occasionally, although I suspect I have at least one follower from my old blogging days at aol who never comments but seems to check in on me a lot. I don't even mind that it might be someone I know who doesn't want me to know that they've found me as long as they leave me alone and don't start up drama. I've done the drama thing and don't want to go back there. I think most people come here accidentally, however, and never come back. I like it that way because I am not looking for an audience to love me or hate me. I just want to write.
My blog isn't a place I come to so that I can listen to a bunch of blowhards argue with me about what I write without knowing a thing about me. Because that's the thing about blogging--we show people what we want to show them about ourselves--at least that's how I blog. I show you a small part of myself and just trust me that you are not getting a full picture of me or my life. There is no way I can write it out for you, even if I wanted to. I will always be more and less than what you think I am.
So when I received this comment from "Christa" whose profile doesn't lead to anything but a private profile page, I was reminded again how much I despise most people in the blogging world because they tend to make false judgements about people they do not know at all. I've witnessed how hateful these self-important people can be when they comment at blogs where they disagree with what's written or how they perceive a blogger is living his/her life. They're like vultures enjoying a battered and bloody carcase on the side of the road. They're just despicable.
Here's Christa's comment:
Christa has left a new comment on your post "not a hero": Oh give me a break. Seriously, the "if they like their home country so much..." argument is one of the clearest signs of a bigot. Your kids are so lucky of all that you've taught them [insert sarcasm]. Thank God they're being exposed to a little more than the "Heavenly Father" BS you teach. Posted by Christa to Breathe Through It... at March 6, 2010 4:05 PM
Oh no, the bigot card was thrown out at me in an attempt to shut me up. She totally ignores the point that I make about the insanity of these radical, puke liberal professors LYING to their students and rewriting history by telling them that Mao is a hero, a visionary, a poet---instead of a cold blooded evil killer who murdered 70 plus million of his own people. Christa is just happy and relieved that my kid gets exposure to someone who lies about China and Mao instead of telling them the truth. We wouldn't want anyone to think badly of China now would we? That wouldn't be politically correct, would it ? We must make sure that we do not offend any minority because being politically correct is way more important than telling the truth. This is the exact sort of bullshit that is ruining our country. I'm going to call things as I see them and if radical pukes want to call me a bigot or think I'm a bigot, so be it. Radical professors who hate America and pine about the good old days in another country while smack talking America under the guise of educating our youth probably should go back to the land that they love because we don't need them here. We have enough Americans hating on our country as it is and striving their hardest to fundamentally change it into something else.
Christa ends with some nonsense about the"Heavenly father" BS that I teach my children. And this is where I am wondering if Christa is mistaking me for someone else because I have never mentioned religion here except in reference to my personal journey of moving away from organized religion because I do not believe it in anymore. My children were not raised in any religion and this is why I can't stand having some buffoon that doesn't know me from Adam (oh my, a religious reference!!!) coming to my space and making a comment based on nothing that is real. I don't need lectures from an anonymous asshat who doesn't leave a link to a blog she keeps so that I can go to her place and make sure she is pumping out material that suits my beliefs the way she came here to insist in a passive aggressive way that I should think and write things that are more to her liking. I feel really, really bad that I'm did not live up to Christa's blogging standards of political correctness (insert sarcasm!).
When I started this blog, I thought about turning the comments off but it's something you have to remember doing every time you post and I always forgot. I'm putting my comments on moderation so that I don't have to see comments here by people I wouldn't bother knowing in real life. Christa and her ilk are all for being tolerant until someone doesn't say or think just what she considers acceptable and then tolerance gets thrown out the window and the claws come out. She can start her own blog for that purpose. I'm not obligated to give her my space to climb up on a soap box and spew her crap.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end ~Seneca
"We are shaped and fashioned by what we love." — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
After having a migraine for about 24 hours, I'm finally feeling better. It's hard to explain how it feels--it's like I go from feeling as though a board of daggers is being driven relentlessly into my skull, to this clearheaded nothingness and I'm so happy not to be in pain anymore. I start mopping floors, I'm dusting like a crazy person, I'm moving around and I'm so happy to be free of the daggers. I try not to think too hard about being happy it's over because I'm afraid the strain on my brain will bring on another migraine. LMAO.
So I've been absent and quiet but I've continued reading all my favorites. Sometimes I just think it's better to step away from always being negative which I feel I've been lately. I can seriously come up with at least one rant a day without even trying (like today I tried to order pizza from my favorite place and the phone rang and rang but no one picked up. I immediately called back and got a busy signal. For the next 15 minutes, the line was busy so I thought perhaps it wasn't open for some reason. I was out and about and went by the place and saw the big neon sign flashing OPEN, so I got out of my car, went in and went up to the counter and placed my order. I told the woman taking my order that I tried calling my order in but that the line was constantly busy. At that very moment, I happened to look down at her phone and guess what? The phone was off the hook! She quickly said to me (as she HUNG up the phone) that she had been having a conversation with someone, but that was a bunch of bull because when I walked in, she wasn't ON the phone, she was sitting there watching ONE LIFE TO LIVE! I know!!!), but I think that gets old for everyone, including me.
My youngest went back to school this week and so it's been quiet here during the day. I didn't get my usual sadness with the beginning of another school year because I've learned that endings aren't always bad and don't always mean THE END. I know my daughter is going to do great things with her life and so I'm just going to enjoy watching the show. She really is the biggest character I've ever encountered in my entire life. I wish you could know her.
My husband and I took the 5 hour trek up to where my son's car had broken down on his way home for the summer because it was finally repaired and brought it home. It's amazing how having that one extra car has alleviated a lot of stress in the household. It only took most of the summer, but I've already forgotten that in my joy at finally having it back.
I do have moments away from this blog when I think that I will never come back to writing here but something always brings me back. What brought me back today was reading a blog elsewhere and getting to the end of the post and being touched by the power of words, and remembering that's what I love best about writing--that feeling of being moved by someone else and coming back here to try to do that myself.
After having a migraine for about 24 hours, I'm finally feeling better. It's hard to explain how it feels--it's like I go from feeling as though a board of daggers is being driven relentlessly into my skull, to this clearheaded nothingness and I'm so happy not to be in pain anymore. I start mopping floors, I'm dusting like a crazy person, I'm moving around and I'm so happy to be free of the daggers. I try not to think too hard about being happy it's over because I'm afraid the strain on my brain will bring on another migraine. LMAO.
So I've been absent and quiet but I've continued reading all my favorites. Sometimes I just think it's better to step away from always being negative which I feel I've been lately. I can seriously come up with at least one rant a day without even trying (like today I tried to order pizza from my favorite place and the phone rang and rang but no one picked up. I immediately called back and got a busy signal. For the next 15 minutes, the line was busy so I thought perhaps it wasn't open for some reason. I was out and about and went by the place and saw the big neon sign flashing OPEN, so I got out of my car, went in and went up to the counter and placed my order. I told the woman taking my order that I tried calling my order in but that the line was constantly busy. At that very moment, I happened to look down at her phone and guess what? The phone was off the hook! She quickly said to me (as she HUNG up the phone) that she had been having a conversation with someone, but that was a bunch of bull because when I walked in, she wasn't ON the phone, she was sitting there watching ONE LIFE TO LIVE! I know!!!), but I think that gets old for everyone, including me.
My youngest went back to school this week and so it's been quiet here during the day. I didn't get my usual sadness with the beginning of another school year because I've learned that endings aren't always bad and don't always mean THE END. I know my daughter is going to do great things with her life and so I'm just going to enjoy watching the show. She really is the biggest character I've ever encountered in my entire life. I wish you could know her.
My husband and I took the 5 hour trek up to where my son's car had broken down on his way home for the summer because it was finally repaired and brought it home. It's amazing how having that one extra car has alleviated a lot of stress in the household. It only took most of the summer, but I've already forgotten that in my joy at finally having it back.
I do have moments away from this blog when I think that I will never come back to writing here but something always brings me back. What brought me back today was reading a blog elsewhere and getting to the end of the post and being touched by the power of words, and remembering that's what I love best about writing--that feeling of being moved by someone else and coming back here to try to do that myself.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Why I write
"I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all." ~Richard Wright, American Hunger, 1977
I write because it comes easier to me than speaking. I write in my head all the time. My head is the place where I record everything, where the words come together. I am always writing something inside my head. I write because it's something I feel confident doing, and because when I compare myself to others, as I sometimes do, I don't feel like I come up short, like I don't measure up. I write because I grew up loving the stories that words can tell--how words and stories can take me away from a sometimes ordinary life and allow my soul to soar with adventure. I wanted to be able to do that, too, not so much with stories, but with snippets of my life that let the truth of my life shine through.
When I write, I think a part of me wants other people to tell me that they feel the same way I do, but I'm never mad or disappointed if they don't because life isn't about us being cookie cutter versions of each other and I'm ok with that. I write because it's like breathing to me--so effortless--when most everything else feels hard. I write because it's something I can call my own, it's my thing. I write because there's nothing more challenging to me than a blank page waiting to be filled with the words of my heart.
Writing feels like I am leaving pieces of me everywhere for someone else to find and piece together. It makes me feel brave that I am taking the risk of putting myself out there because mostly I am content to keep things safely inside me where no risk is involved. I write because I've always wished I could paint or draw, and writing is the closest I will ever get to being an artist. I write because I have things to say, and even if they are things that other people have said hundreds of times before, I like to think I'm saying them differently, that I'm making my story my own.
I write because I grew up in a family that didn't talk about feelings, and consequently I had so many things inside me that I knew needed to get out, and writing provided me that outlet. I write because it's like therapy without spending a dime. I write because I want something permanent that will say I was here, that I lived and loved and wrote it all down, and did not care if I sounded foolish or crazy or rotten or ridiculous. I write because it's something I love doing. I want people to read what I write and come back to learn more but if they don't, I think I am pretty much content knowing that I have this place where I can be the me I don't always get to be.
I write because I cannot ever imagine not writing. It's a passion that never alters. It's a gift that can't be measured. I write for the peace it brings me in the moments of my life when I am searching for a soft place to land, and it does not ever fail me.
More than anyone will ever know, writing is my salvation.
Why do you write?
I write because it comes easier to me than speaking. I write in my head all the time. My head is the place where I record everything, where the words come together. I am always writing something inside my head. I write because it's something I feel confident doing, and because when I compare myself to others, as I sometimes do, I don't feel like I come up short, like I don't measure up. I write because I grew up loving the stories that words can tell--how words and stories can take me away from a sometimes ordinary life and allow my soul to soar with adventure. I wanted to be able to do that, too, not so much with stories, but with snippets of my life that let the truth of my life shine through.
When I write, I think a part of me wants other people to tell me that they feel the same way I do, but I'm never mad or disappointed if they don't because life isn't about us being cookie cutter versions of each other and I'm ok with that. I write because it's like breathing to me--so effortless--when most everything else feels hard. I write because it's something I can call my own, it's my thing. I write because there's nothing more challenging to me than a blank page waiting to be filled with the words of my heart.
Writing feels like I am leaving pieces of me everywhere for someone else to find and piece together. It makes me feel brave that I am taking the risk of putting myself out there because mostly I am content to keep things safely inside me where no risk is involved. I write because I've always wished I could paint or draw, and writing is the closest I will ever get to being an artist. I write because I have things to say, and even if they are things that other people have said hundreds of times before, I like to think I'm saying them differently, that I'm making my story my own.
I write because I grew up in a family that didn't talk about feelings, and consequently I had so many things inside me that I knew needed to get out, and writing provided me that outlet. I write because it's like therapy without spending a dime. I write because I want something permanent that will say I was here, that I lived and loved and wrote it all down, and did not care if I sounded foolish or crazy or rotten or ridiculous. I write because it's something I love doing. I want people to read what I write and come back to learn more but if they don't, I think I am pretty much content knowing that I have this place where I can be the me I don't always get to be.
I write because I cannot ever imagine not writing. It's a passion that never alters. It's a gift that can't be measured. I write for the peace it brings me in the moments of my life when I am searching for a soft place to land, and it does not ever fail me.
More than anyone will ever know, writing is my salvation.
Why do you write?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
On my mind
"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'm not sure my heart is in writing here anymore. The reasons are contradictory and probably won't make sense to anyone but me. I think part of my problem is that blogging feels like it's just another responsibility to me--one I'm not willing to put my all into. There's work involved with blogging that I don't like. I don't like how you have to leave comments to get people to comment (and even then, that system doesn't always work). I know from experience that to increase readership, you have to read other blogs and comment to let them know you are reading and then maybe, maybe, they will stoop to come and read you and maybe, maybe, they will then leave a comment. I've been down this road and all I have to say is that I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to leave fake comments at blogs just to get fake comments at my blog, however, I'm not sure what the purpose of me writing is then. I mean, wouldn't it be better to just have a private blog if I don't want to work to have readers?
The comment thing is a double edged sword. It helps feed the desire to keep writing, but it also makes you feel guilty if you do not return comments to let someone know that you appreciate their reading. I don't have hours to devote to all that commenting anymore and so I have to resort to people maybe randomly checking this place out. It feels lonely. I'd like to think I write just for me, but who am I kidding. I only comment sparingly now---when I feel I have something to say or to add. I hate all that phoney commenting where you say you agree with someone when you most certainly do not. There are so many blog cliques and I don't feel like I fit in anywhere. I want other people to read me and like me but I don't want to put the work into it that it requires. I guess I really am a lazy ass after all.
If I write and no one reads me, do I still matter? I sure hope so.
So who knows what will happen here.
I went to the grocery store after working out today to pick some stuff up for dinner tonight. When I got home, I noticed that somehow I had bought a huge box of DOTS, a box of Oreo cookies and a box of these new vanilla and chocolate pops called Mighty Moos.
OMG. I am so out of control.
I'm not sure my heart is in writing here anymore. The reasons are contradictory and probably won't make sense to anyone but me. I think part of my problem is that blogging feels like it's just another responsibility to me--one I'm not willing to put my all into. There's work involved with blogging that I don't like. I don't like how you have to leave comments to get people to comment (and even then, that system doesn't always work). I know from experience that to increase readership, you have to read other blogs and comment to let them know you are reading and then maybe, maybe, they will stoop to come and read you and maybe, maybe, they will then leave a comment. I've been down this road and all I have to say is that I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to leave fake comments at blogs just to get fake comments at my blog, however, I'm not sure what the purpose of me writing is then. I mean, wouldn't it be better to just have a private blog if I don't want to work to have readers?
The comment thing is a double edged sword. It helps feed the desire to keep writing, but it also makes you feel guilty if you do not return comments to let someone know that you appreciate their reading. I don't have hours to devote to all that commenting anymore and so I have to resort to people maybe randomly checking this place out. It feels lonely. I'd like to think I write just for me, but who am I kidding. I only comment sparingly now---when I feel I have something to say or to add. I hate all that phoney commenting where you say you agree with someone when you most certainly do not. There are so many blog cliques and I don't feel like I fit in anywhere. I want other people to read me and like me but I don't want to put the work into it that it requires. I guess I really am a lazy ass after all.
If I write and no one reads me, do I still matter? I sure hope so.
So who knows what will happen here.
I went to the grocery store after working out today to pick some stuff up for dinner tonight. When I got home, I noticed that somehow I had bought a huge box of DOTS, a box of Oreo cookies and a box of these new vanilla and chocolate pops called Mighty Moos.
OMG. I am so out of control.
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