baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Indulging My Addiction You know, I used to love soap operas. I remember coming home from elementary school to find my house lit up with the light of not one, not two, but three television sets; each tuned in to a different soap.The cacophony of people making love, arguing, planning murders and plotting revenge was the soundtrack of my preadolescence. These were the days before pubic hair, big hair and long hair. I would get home from school around 2 PM. and enjoy a full hour of General Hospital and/or Days of Our Lives. Afterwards, I would set out on my bike to enjoy more typical little boy activities-like running over flowerbeds with my Huffy. But, first-I had to get daily cleansing from my favorite soaps. It was my indoctrination to the wonderful world of addictions. I weaned myself from soap operas as I got older. In fact, as of late, I've weaned myself off of most television. I used to be proud of this fact; silently believing that my choice to do other things besides watch TV (such as read books, play guitar and take long walks) made me a wee-bit better than your standard television junky. One chooses their drug. And, as far as I was concerned, my choice of drugs were more noteworthy than the choice of those who spent their free time chasing imaginary, TV-authored personas via daytime soap operas and nighttime shows like Thirty-Something. But, ya know, pride cometh before you slip and fall on your ass. I didn't realize that the first click on this on-line journal phenomena called Diaryland would be the first step down a slippery slope of addictive voyeuristic pleasures; a slope not at all unlike the slope TV addicts slip down when they rush home to watch Ally McBeal or the like. I click on some of these diaries everyday now. And some I visit occasionally like favored acquaintances. It's amazing how much I know about some of you folks-and, hell, I occasionally revisit my earlier entries and am amazed at how much you know about me. Case in point-the virtual Romeo and Juliet: Recently, I've been visiting two diarylanders who have grown quite smitten with each other's words. Their entries have taken a different direction as of late: what used to be self-absorbed have now become coded, almost poetic, messages to each other. It's been interesting reading about their hopes, fears and anticipation.What a great way to fall into love; completely bypassing the initial limitations of physical appearance, and simply being enamored with each other's writing. A modern-day Cyrano De Bergerac. Folks, this is the stuff that epitomizes the modern-day love affair; and way, way better than a soap opera. Their affair is happening right here, right now. And hell, I could e-mail the diaryland performers if I wanted to (something I wouldn't do with the lovely Calista Flockhart...who, by the way, looks just fine the way she is. Why are we so obsessive about weight? Too skinny? Too fat? Who cares? She looks damn fine to these male eyes. But, I digress). Another interesting fact about my favorite virtual Romeo and Juliet: they will write entries to each other, and delete them. It's amazing to read four or so entries one day, and then find no trace of them the next. Yet another advantage the virtual romance has over the more typical face-to-face variety: you can never take back your words, but, hell, it's easy enough to delete an entry. I've heard mostly horror stories about on-line affairs. How, despite flying miles-high during the initial chat-room phase, the relationship would come crashing down once both people were face-to-face. What a shame. I'm hoping for a better ending to this diaryland-induced romance. I hope it stays in flight long after their highly anticipated meeting. So, I suppose Diaryland has become a habit of sorts. It's not television, but the addiction is the same. I�ve become much more aware of my experiences; wondering how in the hell my day-to-day existence could possibly be translated into the words that will become yet another journal entry. I'm also way more self-obsessed; this journal has elevated my narcissistic tendencies back to adolescent heights. My addiction shouldn't surprise me. I studied to be a journalist, and have always loved to write-so the therapeutic effects of the written word have been apparent to me for years. But, unlike a lot of other writers, I've kept Baggage to myself for one main reason: anonymity. The protective dome of anonymity gives me a certain freedom when I write. I feel OK about unloading these carry-ons here because nobody I know will open up these bags and rummage around. Only one other person and my ISP knows who writes these words, and, honestly, I like it that way. One would think it would be easier to say the same things I write in these entries to close friends. You'd think I'd prefer to share these thoughts with those I see face-to-face; the wonderful folks who know my name, my face, my habits. But (and some of you may agree), it's just not true. My favorite Ms. Mystery, Foufie, recently wrote this to me: "Baring everything to total strangers is sometimes less terrifying than doing the same with friends." It's so true, Ms. Foufie.And I don't know why. 00:17:59 - 2000-10-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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