So I am finally blogging and I could not be happier about this fact. I have so much to say and so few people who really care to sit and listen to it unless its funny. Having a blog (even if at this point, it doesnt have even one soul reading it) *still* gives me the illusion of an audience who cares about my thoughts. Why? I guess because if anybody out there at some point DID sit down to read this, they'd have to care or else why the heck would they do it?!
But maybe someone will. I myself finally made the decision to do this because I have been secretly reading the blog of a girl from my highschool for... um... four years now. Off and on. She and I weren't exactly friends. In person, I found her to be a bit weird (and one of those people who seemed like she was trying to be weird on purpose, which was a turn-off to me.) But she was (and IS) a brilliant writer. Its funny, but I can sit (as I did tonight) and read twenty or so blogs from her *archives* from the year 2003 IN THEIR ENTIRETY. No skipping, not even any skimming. She's that good.
I'm not that good. But I believe I'm that interesting. Maybe that's giving myself way too much glory, but this is my blog. And rule number one is going to be that I am going to say *whatever* I want. People always tell me that I am honest. That I say what I think... even stuff people are afraid to say. But very often they are oh-so-wrong. Oh, the things I would say if only I had an outlet where no one could hold them against me! And here it is. So if you suspect you will be offended by anything I might say here... the fault lies with you...you chose to read. I'm not making anyone listen to me. What a beautiful freedom!
And I would like to post on my opening blog a poem that is my favorite. Its an old poem. From old England... and I love it. And I dont like people who say they hate poetry because usually that just means they are too lazy to try to understand things.
When men shall find thy flower, thy glory, pass,
And thou with careful brow sitting alone
Received hast this message from thy glass,
That tells thee truth and says that all is gone:
Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest,
Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining;
I that have lov'd thee thus before thou fadest,
My faith shall wax when thou art in thy waning.
The world shall find this miracle in me,
That fire can burn when all the matter's spent;
Then what my faith hath been thyself shall see,
And that thou wast unkind thou mayst repent.
Thou mayst repent that thou hast scorn'd my tears,
When winter snows upon thy golden hairs.
Samuel Daniel
I see me in this poem. Always seated alone... choosing to be alone. I think of the tears I've scorned. I wonder if I'll repent one day when I'm old and gray that I "wast unkind."
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