cohesive jive.

i have odd attachments still, to being 'boogie'

i've had a year and a few months struggle with the concept of diarylife and the desire for an audience. both knowing i'd write anyway and yet getting a sick surge of ego when someone would add me to favorites.

and i realized to my shame, today,that i was enjoying being on 80 peoples favorites list and that being on 18 felt so paltry.

i had beenlying to myself that it meant nothing. and .. it doesn't mean a lot, but ... it was just a little jolt that went through me as i recognized what i was feeling and immediately wanted to knock myself silly.

i've read so many entries by different people about the struggle between the desire for 'popularity' or 'readership' and staying true to themselves.

i think that's good. it's a good balance and fight.

we'll keep fighting the good fight.

by this i mean...maybe that struggle makes us more conscious of what we write in a good way. it edits us. causes us to not just blurt out anything in a messy manner, but instead allows us to use our own editorial and creative skills. but at the same time. that double edged sword. we're more conscious. we try to please or to sidestep or to be vague. it's a balance. an ok one, if we find the right straddling position. some people lay it out there more. some hold back more. i don't think either is better. but .. i'msick of that topic. it's been bandied around way too much the past year. sometimes in pointed underhanded directional 'attacks' sometimes in self-reflective manner. blah blah.

i'm also attached to some sense of self that i had attached to that persona. like it was some extra limb i had the use of.

i just haveto say how absolutely amazing a writer this oneis. i love her.

so i'm home for the third night in a row. strangely revelling in my temporary hermit living. wandering my echoing empty house in my sock-feet. wrinkling my nose at the contents of my frige. shuffling through the dark living room. boogie trailing quietly like a ghost behind me. jump blues on my stereo.

i was feeling spread thin. my edges stretched like canvas on an easel...cracking down the middle.

some alone time is the paint thatpeople can't be.

ok, i've been back and forth at this for an hour now.

i'm not doin the cohesive jive thing.

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