Thursday, May 10, 2007
This monitor is too high
How did I start my first blog?
Well, technically, I didn't start my first blog. My father, then sixty-something -- but newly -- invited me to join his blog.
I quickly found that I was not on his intellectual niveau.
Which is not to say that niveaus are as three dimensional as we once thought. I am just not on the same plain.
Thus was born "isbella wunder".
It started out poorly. Just like this blog starts.
But I wrote,
and I wrote.
and eventually it was just poor . . . and eventually, I suppose, it was more than mediocre.
I think I was in a lot of pain when I started that blog.
I was in a lot of pain last year.
I like to talk about how my life has transformed.
But I am in a lot of pain again.
I don't think i wanna' publish this. But the writing can't be bad. God, its been so long since I've sat down to write.
And the blog did that for me.
It gave me the motivation. It provided the audience for that tree falling.
Wait, I just read back, thinking, "but I actually will publish this", and I realized that some of the writing can be misunderstood. The writing is definitely bad, however, for me, personally, the exercise of writing again, can't be bad.
Maybe I should post a bunch of old Isabella Wunderisms to get me back in the groove. Or, maybe, I'm somebody else now.
Although, then again, can't be so much, 'cause here I am, on Thursday night, dissatisfied with my career, drinking beer, and thrown into this melancholy because of my dysfunctional love life.
I guess it is all on a different "niveau" now, though.
Oh, I'm not sure I can write now.
The familiar terrain of this particular niveau is producing vertigo.
I look down at the last one and grow confused that this one should look so similar, yet, be so different.
Everytime it leaves you, it leaves you broken, no matter which exit it takes.
And when I say "it" I mean your status as a celibate, single girl.
And when I say, "I love you, _____", I mean, ohmigod, i still love you, despite everything in between, despite the fact that you only finally love me and you still can't understand me when I say, "I love you."
Because I don't care anymore.
Because I don't really love you.
Because
Well, technically, I didn't start my first blog. My father, then sixty-something -- but newly -- invited me to join his blog.
I quickly found that I was not on his intellectual niveau.
Which is not to say that niveaus are as three dimensional as we once thought. I am just not on the same plain.
Thus was born "isbella wunder".
It started out poorly. Just like this blog starts.
But I wrote,
and I wrote.
and eventually it was just poor . . . and eventually, I suppose, it was more than mediocre.
I think I was in a lot of pain when I started that blog.
I was in a lot of pain last year.
I like to talk about how my life has transformed.
But I am in a lot of pain again.
I don't think i wanna' publish this. But the writing can't be bad. God, its been so long since I've sat down to write.
And the blog did that for me.
It gave me the motivation. It provided the audience for that tree falling.
Wait, I just read back, thinking, "but I actually will publish this", and I realized that some of the writing can be misunderstood. The writing is definitely bad, however, for me, personally, the exercise of writing again, can't be bad.
Maybe I should post a bunch of old Isabella Wunderisms to get me back in the groove. Or, maybe, I'm somebody else now.
Although, then again, can't be so much, 'cause here I am, on Thursday night, dissatisfied with my career, drinking beer, and thrown into this melancholy because of my dysfunctional love life.
I guess it is all on a different "niveau" now, though.
Oh, I'm not sure I can write now.
The familiar terrain of this particular niveau is producing vertigo.
I look down at the last one and grow confused that this one should look so similar, yet, be so different.
Everytime it leaves you, it leaves you broken, no matter which exit it takes.
And when I say "it" I mean your status as a celibate, single girl.
And when I say, "I love you, _____", I mean, ohmigod, i still love you, despite everything in between, despite the fact that you only finally love me and you still can't understand me when I say, "I love you."
Because I don't care anymore.
Because I don't really love you.
Because
