avawatson: (Default)
Wherein I stress ramble endlessly. I don't care the info here is public or that you read it, but it is cut because there's just an obnoxious number of words and it starts falling apart like I've forgotten how to string them together. Sigh. My brain's swiss cheesed. You'll see.

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avawatson: (Default)
The way the backs of my eyes hurt feels like an indefensible, naked statement: the world's a poorer place. It feels indulgent and laden with guilt. Here we are, here we always are, in between other deaths, people with less success and shorter lives, close and far away. It feels selfish to mourn sometimes, preposterous to take one loss and stretch it across so much. But there's only so much mass in the universe, and it feels like a colossal waste that atoms, that have taken such balletic pains to collide and form stars and decay and become an individual person, should be undone just like that. A whole person, vanished.

I don't believe in god. I have a hard time with the sentiment that hopefully he's at peace now. I have a hard time with oblivion being okay.

Robin Williams died the day after my dad's birthday. He's always been the same age as my mom; I think of that whenever I see his birth year. I have more memories of laughing with him than I do with my own dad, for all that my dad lived for 4 years longer. What that says about me or him or my family life is probably telling of something.

I have a hard time with oblivion.
avawatson: (Default)
Sometimes, I have a thought and it's like a really unsatisfying orgasm: quick, not much of an afterglow, possibly punctuated with an exasperated really, brain? and a sigh.

Today's tonight's the thought I had three minutes ago involved the fact that, as much as I just wrote up two comments to [livejournal.com profile] corpsereviver2 about how I can't make myself be a true tjlc believer, I'm literally in the midst of turning LSiT's M theory meta into a podfic podmeta. Oh hey, past!me, making present!me look like an arse once again. Past!me sucks, never trust her. No, I don't know which past!me I'm talking about, the one doing the recordings or the ones making the comments.

I'll be honest, I'm more about seeing fic produced in light of the meta than seeing proof of the meta being true though.
avawatson: (Default)
It has been several years since I had a livejournal account. I can't even remember my first account, but it must have been about 1999 or 2000, I want to say. It was definitely before college, which I started in 2001.

I really almost can't believe I'm back. I don't feel facetious at all in saying that this feels like I've picked up a long under-control drug habit after many years on the wagon. And I promise I've never had substance abuse issues, but man, I've had internet codependence issues for just about all my adult life. That sort of thing was kind of shunned at one point in my life, but nowadays I think people don't judge you anymore for it. It's normal. It's not just nerds who are like this. (I'll confess I think of many of the people on tumblr as one of the cool kids, and I envy that they get social media in an age of geek chic.)

But this nigh uncomfortable nostalgia trip is something I feel is fairly unique to the generation that discovered the internet, as opposed to the generation just after mine that was basically born into it. (Insert Bane reference here.)

Or maybe I'm talking out of my ass because I'm sleep deprived. Maybe it's not generational at all; maybe it's just personal. All those years ago...livejournal in particular was not a positive place for me. I feel like over the years, I've forged the internet to be a much more positive place for me. But it used to be nothing but a bottomless trough of post-pubescent angst. Not because of anything inherent in it, but this place was one of solace and anger and grief that life wasn't what I wanted it to be, and nothing at all resembling squee. It was shelter, and very often just an echo chamber for my personal venting. I was so depressed and angry. It saddens me just to think about it.

Now I'm anxious, but I don't think rage issues and depression are the name of the game anymore. That's something like progress.

I checked out some of my old accounts. Skimmed, because so much of it was still really painful to go back to. I found an old tagline of mine that I remember using often, across many account moves. "My name is Caroline. I live in New York. Everything else is a work in progress." Thirteen years later and this is still the case. I guess I never expected any different. I was never going to turn out like some kind of cake, but the surprise really is that life feels very circular indeed. Back on lj of all places. Caroline, this is your life.

In future, friends, I might put personal posts like this one in a friends-only bubble. It's strange the things we share with the world, the walls we put up. Personal posts on an ostensibly fannish existence livejournal. I'm mostly anonymous to my fandom friends, even though many of you actually talk to me more often than some real life friends, and you are privy to the nightblogging world of my mind and you know my kinks and preoccupations. The shape of my privacy in this world seems strange and I'm making it up as I go along. But for now, chalk it up to the sleep deprivation. Another thing that hasn't changed in my adult life.

July 2017

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