march 17, 1999

jotted that down in my journal yesterday, as i was sitting in contact improv. sitting and watching because i was (and am) too sick to participate. i started thinking about my website somehow, and about how it had been a while since i'd changed the main page. (about two weeks. wanna see the most recent one?) and the whole reason i became fascinated with making webpages was the instant gratification, the constant change, the immediacy of it all. i'm not interested, at least right now, in making a beautiful main page and leaving it here for all time. that's why it's not really like a home. a home you build, you decorate, and you pretty much leave as it is.

come to think of it though, you know i've been getting uncontrollable urges quite frequently lately to rearrange furniture. over winter break i moved every piece of furniture in my bedroom at home. by myself. in one day. it was so exhilarating; i felt like i'd bought a new room. and then i got back to college and started drawing out floorplans. thank goodness talia was willing to go along with my weird whims. it's funny, the way we deal with a feeling of a need for change. some people get tattoos. some people shave their heads. i move furniture. (i don't think that's really all i do... but it's definitely a pattern i've noticed.)

so what all this need for change stuff adds up to is a desire to have a page that's constantly shifting and growing, new thoughts piled onto older ones but never quite erasing them. that's why i'm keeping all my older main pages. just because they're not quite me anymore doesn't erase the validity of them. it's the same reason i save so many unfinished letters. it no longer feels honest to send them to someone, passing these thoughts off as ones i'm still thinking, but at the same time it's such a great record of the way i was two weeks or two years ago. back when i made a zine, i'd sometimes print some of them, these "letters never sent."

writing || journal || dekalb || maine