I think I overlearned not to overshare

My blogger account is a teenager. My Me-Fi number is four digits. I have tweeted six thousand nine hundred times and I hardly ever twatter! Anymore. Anyway, I didn’t invent overshare, but I was probably webcamming my ladybits  to someone while it was being invented, and if you ever wondered “has liz ever had dreams of a prurient nature about Bill Gates?” that answer is not hard to find. Nor are my ladybits, I’m sure, but I’m sure most of you know that by now, eh? One thousand six hundred sixty nine posts in this archive, with whole years gone missing — there was more, I’m not even kidding.  And you know I am almost always either not serious, or not kidding. Usually both.

Once I was a woman of many strong opinions, and I loved them. I loved arguing about them too, I considered it a form of sport — in the way that I once considered Farmville to be a form of … what? Honestly I’d love to know what I was thinking when I thought that one. But that’s not what I came here to talk about.

Once my will drove me to express my self in ways that would … what was it? Oh, piss people off, wake up the sheeple, you know the drill. I came to that stage relatively late in life, and took to it with some exceedingly fervent fervor. And then I came out as an atheist and espoused some seriously liberal politics and  … well, I apologize for the couple of years spent being a complete asshole, let’s put all that behind us and just agree to disagree if we do?

Because there came a time I became much less interested in watching my own viewpoints either go unchallenged, or face only the most trollish of challenges (the treasured ignorant enemy that one can frame oneself smart when shown side-by-side against) — where’s the fun in that? What I am most fascinated with is those who share the same facts with me, who have reached alternate conclusions — but this is such a rare thing and when I consider its stimulating possibilities, I cannot help but be compelled by the ennui to just walk away. This isn’t your textbook lazy-ass type of apathy, if I sense I can change a thing I will consider doing things designed to make differences but let’s just face it, there are not too many of those things out there and I’m currently doing a whole shitload of them and that’s all rather beside the point, because it’s the fucking grey areas that are the real problem. That and the thing where none of this is really very important at all against the vastness of existence. Then you realize the only thing we really have is our perceptions and therefore while perspective isn’t exactly *everything* it really, really is most of the things. And every one of us has our own one of those, no two alike.  Fucking perspective, it makes strangers of us all.

But what does one do when one has been blathering one’s own perspective about for a good decade or more, then suddenly … this?

Me? I went quiet. Oh not entirely quiet, I still typed many things into many boxes, but somewhere along the line I learned the X in the corner was the appropriate click for me. Stop became a mantra of sorts, no was another.  I felt silence was the most unexplored of all my options and embraced it … fitfully. At best. I hope.

I’m not trying to claim I was any good at being the kind of quiet I probably should have been but couldn’t be because there is literally no way to know what that even means, because I wasn’t, and there isn’t, and then again there might be you just never fucking know. And THAT, dear person reading this, is the actual problem here. Well, that and the fact I overuse the word ‘actual’. And the unknown unknowns. Fuck those things, and any regrets I may harbor regarding them.

I want to continue to write (if you’d call this that), and I mean to do this for as long as I’m around. I can’t help but notice that no thing really really matters, least of all a pretentious little outburst like this one, which at this moment seems rather exceptionally insignificant.

Exceptional insignificance is something I can live with.

I can live without it too.

As to whether there is any truth in this honesty, well, you tell me.

6 thoughts on “I think I overlearned not to overshare

  1. it’s good to see a liz-post after so long. I watch my friend-feed several times a week, looking for tidbits from my scattered interweb-friends.

    Do I have an opinion about your post.. well, not really, except that it’s good to see some words. I still enjoy your witty word-twists and they are aplenty in this essay.

    We grow, change, morph, and otherwise move from one emotional-spiritual-intellectual point to another in this four- (or more) dimensional universe. It’s a bit of pablum recently rediscovered by… me. 🙂 I also have a blanket penchant for obvious statements, of which this is yet one more.

    When I started my own exercise in over-sharing (ancient history in terms of blog-lives), I only knew I had a few things I wanted to write in some kind of semi-public forum, without the trials of peer-review. Thus was born my own weblog. The thing morphed a few times over the years, probably a reflection of the changes going on in my life, interest, family, and so forth. It’s an interesting thing to go back and look over my thoughts now.

    It’s probably the same for you.

    I came for the voices, because they fascinate me. I stayed because, well, I’m like that.

  2. It makes me sad that your site is a 404 (though I just found out mine was a 404 all day, long story).

    I’m not sure why I started blogging, come to think of it. I didn’t have anything in particular that I had in mind to write about. Which explains … well, a lot.

  3. Well, mine’s a long story too. My host had a drive crash and has not yet recovered. It’s been a month. As soon as I can retrieve my data (I have a local backup through February) I’m going to move my host and renew my weblog. I’m not done writing yet.

  4. I can offer you free hosting that only goes down when I forget to pay the bill for a few minutes, and probably won’t go back down in the near future because I’ve finally worked out the whole thing with my hosting bills — another long story.

    I want to read what you’re not done writing yet.

    We can get stuff put back through February and add other stuff later?

  5. That’s a very generous offer and thank you. Email me and I’ll fill you in. I have a nice long weekend coming up (taking Friday off) and am going to spend some of the time geocaching and playing with my dog. I might even head up north along the eastern Sierra to do some photography and geocaching for a couple of days. But I’ll be around…

  6. I’m like HEY! you like stole my thoughts, you thought stealing troll or whatever the lizard version of that is, but no its just that I resonate at the same frequency or something. So my blog has been erased from the history of the cyberspace, but everynow and then I notice little snippets of it still lingering, in a post of some past reposted requoted BFG mumble. And I think well isn’t that nice, or OMG did I make that comment what a B-troll, I was or suchlike. I liked reading the smart-ass version of you and the no-one loves me and I should go down in the garden to eat worms version, with the same like and just a little increase in speed of heart beat blood pressure or both if I was able. But I’m not able I’m infirm as they say in the old books, and going a little doo-lally too, BUT if I WAs able firm and sound of mind, I’d fly to your side stick a paint brush in you hand and hold the pots of paint and the ladder so you could paint the ceiling with Lizards, and birds and clouds and bees and those furry things whos name I can’t remember, and then declare it a masterpiece, buy the building name it after you and give it to you.
    btw I’ve grown my beard recently since the hair on top has stopped doing that and got thinner and less voluminous. Your hair is so “FLUFFY!” and wavy and fabulous, I could just watch it move as you do for days, not that I have a hair fetish, well I do like to watch a ponytail sway as a ponytailed woman runs so maybe..its like going to the beach on a rough and windy day with the surf crashing the waves are mesmerising, like the hair.

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