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exactly one hour ago i started typing this really long, personal narrative about past relationships - losing touch, death, what it means to love people and have them inside of me, even if i'm no longer a part of their daily lives. and fucking aol crashes, and of course i wasn't obsessively saving it because i haven't written anything on this webpage for so long that i was rusty at it, and i forgot to do anything but type i was so absorbed in it. but maybe it's better this way. i don't know. i mean, i don't know how i feel anymore about putting a lot of personal stuff up on the internet. and what i do know is that after having sat here for an hour, my butt's so fucking uncomfortable that i have to stand up to type this - my jeans were cutting off circulation to my legs or something. anyway, it's 3:16 A.M. and i'm sad to have lost all that writing. here's the last paragraph anyway. it was still on the screen when it froze so i saved it:
I mean, I know I'd love to get a letter from someone I hadn't heard from in ages, just saying that [that being: "i love you. you've meant a lot to my life"]. I guess it's sort of like the Christmas/Holiday letter tradition -- only they're always so full of -- I don't know -- I mean, sometimes they're really nice, but it just seems so formulaic to divide your life into the little boxes of life accomplishments -- but I like the concept of just one little back & forth of "I'm doing pretty well, I think you're great" "I'm doing okay too, I think you're also great." No guilt about not staying in touch, not keeping up with the latest changes. I don't know what all this has been about. If anyone reads this who knows me, or used to a long time ago, know that you've probably been in my thoughts -- at least little flashes of your face, little scraps of memory. Know that I wish you all the best. Know that I will welcome your response to me, if you have time to send a life update. Know that what's most important to me is how you feel, not what boxes you've checked off in the "accomplishments" column. Know that I will, despite all this complaining, relish the opportunity to write back to you. At least once or twice. Maybe more. So that's what remains... maybe I'll write something else soon, when I'm less tired and frustrated. Goodnight.
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