killing me softy.

When I was sixteen I created a livejournal, within the pseudo pages of my internet journal I documented the events of my very colorful sophomore year of high school.  After about six months of documents the ins and outs of my life, while trying to sound poetically unique I realized that I, like every other sixteen year old, was just like all of my friends who listened to Dashboard Confessional and Simple Plan and despised my parents for instilling morals in me.  My livejournal page is still in existence, however I have not been "active" since 2002.  When livejournal became too popular, and "everyone and their mom" had one...I once again wante to establish myself as the girl who was ever so popular, yet outside the cliche...so I quit blogging on livejournal to create a deadjournal.  A deadjournal and a live journal were basically interchangeable...there was just one distinct difference:  livejournal was white and deadjournal was black.  Deadjournal seemed to provide a place of solace for very over dramatic teenagers who wore black nail polish, dark eye liner, and very purposefully messed up their hair to look like they had just rolled out of be.  I was proud to know that while I curled my hair and wore American Eagle that I had somehow fashioned together a deadjournal that had a small following.  Granted that following consisted of my very very dramatic sixteen-year-old friends who had had also switched from live to deadjournal for the sake of establishing their originality.

I think that at twenty-two I am still attempting to establish some sort of originality.  I would like to broadcast my thoughts to you while consuming a classy panini, and sipping on an Italian soda; but I must admit to you that I am a sucker for a good Whopper, a king size fry pod, and a very cosmopolitan diet coke.  The BK lounge is nothing to call original, and that is where I would rather dine.  So in this stage of life I find myself looking for the same thing that I searched for at sixteen, and I discovered that even at twenty-two I have found some sort of awkward peace in spilling it all over the internet.

As I once again record the story of my life, the ins and outs of the hum drum, and my overly theatrical take on my lustful relationships I hope that my contemporary livejournal will provide the relief of a good back scratch from a mom who now lives four hundred miles away, or the feeling you have when your best friend greets you at the door, or the comfort you had when you opened your high school locker and found a encouraging note on game day from the team captain...my expectations for my new therapeutic endeavor may be set too high, and maybe I should find a friend in Nashville instead of another internet page to have affection for...but that would not be nearly as entertaining to tell old friends.  I made a friend, or I started a blog?  Weigh the options...definitely a better conversation starter to say that you started a blog.  So if I meet you in a coffee shop that is home to modern day philosophers, or a Burger King that is contributing to our fast food nation I hope that you will not be able to recognize that the internet is killing me softly.