When I was a child my mother always put me to bed the night before my birthday by telling me, "Good night, little four-year-old". When I awoke the next morning the first thing I heard was, "Good morning, little five-year-old".

I feel a bit like that now - this writeup will move me from Level One to Level Two.

I came to E2 after a lifetime of writing commercially : writing presentation copy for an ad agency in my early years, then business writing in an administrative capacity. I have always yearned to write creatively but somehow I never did.

I thought I would do so here but soon realized that self-indulgent creative writing is not the primary purpose of E2. Or maybe it is true that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. I continue to do what I have always done, what I call journeyman writing. Take a subject, find out as much as you can about it, serve it up in an appetizing manner, hope it is understood and accepted. Go on to the next subject. Do the same thing again. Do it again. And again.

My first writeup was two paragraphs for a node I found when surfing Random Node, a node on a subject I know something about. Amazingly, it was not nuked. My second writeup was more ambitious. Again, it was a subject I had known well in my childhood. I researched it to bring myself up to date, wrote and rewrote, then rewrote some more. The result was a C! and a respectable number of upvotes. I was on my way.

I have yet to tangle with Klaproth, although I have asked to have some of my writeups destroyed for one reason or another. I have had the great good fortune to have been encouraged and instructed by other noders far more experienced than myself. The number of upvotes on my first 24 writeups has been more consistent than the number of C! accolades.

I am forever amazed that a writeup I produce in a casual manner will sometimes garner more praise than another writeup I sincerely labor over. I have a "thing" writeup about the metric system that I wrote simply to expedite the linkage of another writeup on a "place" in France. I love that site in France; it is a spot I know intimately. I refined and polished the writeup until it was as perfect as I could make it. The "thingy" is a 2-C! piece with almost twice the upvotes of the writeup it was to have supported.

And so it goes. And will continue to go, I suppose. I am becoming philosophical about the vagrancies of others' taste and opinion. I find myself writing more for myself and less for you. I have discovered there are certain things I know something about, other things I want to learn more about, and that it is all grist for the mill. I am learning that I want to keep the mill turning. I am enjoying myself here.

Good night, Level One.

This is a bad node

To date, I have made one attempt at writing a daylog. That attempt was yesterday. I didn't actually submit it and instead managed to lose it in a server error. I was pissed for more than one reason.

I was going to write some angsty, nihilistic, existential self-defeatism. I was quite angered when it was deleted because you just cannot reproduce bullshit like that. It seems that my attempts at introspection, however, resulted in more angst, nihilism, and exhistentialism. I have determined that the Daylog is the bane of my personal existance, and I hereby vow not to write another one. It has done nothing in the way of allowing me to vent and has, instead, magnified my crappy mood. It seems that, upon realizing that I was upset over nothing, I did not simply recover, but rather got angry with myself for having been upset over nothing and thus creating a reson to be upset. This pisses me off.

Right after joining the dead tree quest I have suceeded in altering my state of mind sufficiently to prohibit any clear thought or social observation that my writing relies on. This pisses me off.

As a result of this, I hereby pledge that this will be the last and only getting to know you node that I node. I consider this node to be inferior for a few reasons, which I shall now go into for the benefit of those who will soon be downvoting it.

  • This node has no real content
    • It contains no researched facts. This node is not scientifically relevant.
    • This node contains no substantial insights into anyone other than me. This node is not socially relevant.
    • This node does not propose any interesting or radical ideas about the nature of reality or anything else. This node is not Philosophically relevant.
    • Any radical ideas I may have had will have already occured to others.
  • This node contains no technical skill.
    • There is no interesting linguistic devices in this node. This node is not scholastically relevant.
    • This node contains a blatant overuse of parallel structure. This node is not varied in its usage of syntax. This node is not entertaining.
    • This node does not contain interesting and somewhat obscure words, such as Zoroastrianism and perdition; nor does it contain colorful adjectives or hyperbole, such as astoundingly, outrageously, or beyond all understaing. This node is not stylistically relevant.
    • This node may contain typeos, I have not thouroughly checked through it.
  • This node is difficult to read
    • Overuse of the bulleted list tag has lead to a discontinuity that is not easy on the eye.
    • This node contains much repetition, which has been mentioned before, and may cause the reader to lose interest. This node is aesthetically irrelevant.
    • This node does not contain its acceptable allotment of pronouns, therefore fostering the incessant repetition of the noun phrase "This Node."
    • This node contains both commentary pipelinks, informational pipelinks, and standard links. This may be confusing to the reader who is expecting commentary, yet, upon hovering their mouse over a word, finds that it is a standard link. This node requires work to read.

This is a terrible node, I admit, and I feel that its presence may serve the same purpose for me that the THE LOUD NODE serves for the rest of us; we can do better than that.

I had no friends as a child, unless you count my trusty laptop. Our family, if you can call it that, moved around so much that home to me was a hazed blend of little hotel soaps and mini-bars. It's not a bad life once you get used to waking up alone, eating meals alone, and drifting off to the nightly news. Alone.

My education has been left in the hands of a tutor. International business is a lucrative field, and so we can probably afford to pay this guy to travel around with us, but this expense was deemed unnecessary by the parents. I download my lessons, upload my own work, and generally fill my days doing independent reading .

I'm fourteen and have little to do. It seems as though my life has entered a long "pause" where I'm too young to get a job and likewise too young to get into university. I have the pre-requisites, but the parents feel I am not "socially" mature enough to partake in university life. Fair enough--but how does one live a meaningful existence given these circumstances?

As previously stated, my laptop plays an instrumental role in my life. I never leave home without it. I compute, this is what I do. On the train, on the plane, in little crevices... I compute. My chief interest is computer security. I don't quite know which shade of hat I wear; I've not yet declared my allegiance. I do confess to breaking into networks and such, though never for malicious reasons. The bulk of my time is spent on my own net, trying to break into my own computer. Given the sorry state of computer legislation today, I wouldn't be surprised if that constituted some sort of crime in some state somewhere.

A large chunk of me feels as though I'm wasting my time. I have no... direction in life. Productivity is no problem, as I likely accomplish more in a day than your average nitwit does in an entire week. But, to what end? Self-edification?

A lonely kid, signing out.

"I'm free to do what I want any old time"

I am officially unemployed. Well starting Sunday actually it will be official (1st of the month)

"I'm free to do what I want any old time"

It’s the first time in my life that I have no future commitments or obligations.

"So love me, hold me, love me, hold me"

I have enough money saved up to not worry too much

"I'm free any old time to get what I want]"

Maybe the only time in my life when I am truly at peace….

"I'm free to choose what I please any old time"

Now I have to think about my future…. Travel? Business? Studies?

"I'm free to choose what I please any old time"

But I’m gonna take my time deciding. And enjoy this…

"So hold me, love me, love me, hold me"

If only I had someone to share this time with…

" I'm free any old time to get what I want, yes I am"

Actually, I am enjoying this quite a lot… alone!

Because I’m Free!

I probably should know better by now but after reading Diabolics contribution to today’s daylogs, I feel somewhat compelled.

This is a good node.

To date, I have made several attempts at writing daylogs. The latest was as recent as January 27, 2004. Even though the server has been quite bouncy as of late, I’m still glad I submitted it.

Usually the topics of my daylogs are not of the angsty, nihilistic, existential self defeatism type. They are more likely to lean to matters of family, friends, issues of the day, concerns and good old fashioned fun. It seems that my attempts at this sort of thing have been received (for the most part) with open arms and open minds. I found that the more I revealed of myself, whether it be my personality, my social situation and my take on the world in general, has resulted in me making more and more friends here at E2. Many of those whom I consider friends share some of the same concerns or have experienced similar life events. To put it simply, we share something in common that extends to more than just writing. To me, that’s one of the building blocks that we use when we describe ourselves as a “community”.

Usually, before I pull the trigger on submitting a daylog, I’m a little nervous. I think that feeling goes hand in hand with the nervousness one might get when being introduced to new people. I wonder what I should say, how I should say it and how it will be received. Usually, my feelings are unwarranted. I’ve posted enough daylogs in my time here to know that even though they are subject to downvotes, I usually feel better for at least trying to express myself. This makes me happy.

As a result of all of this, I hereby pledge that I will continue to write daylogs as long as the powers that be let me and the situation warrants it. I consider this node not to be inferior to those fine factual and scientifically relevant nodes for the following reasons.

  • This node contains real content and I am a real person, not some made up name and password.
  • It contains the facts of my life, the thoughts in my head and the feelings in my heart. Hopefully, none of that meets the criteria of being scientifically relevant. I am, after all made of flesh and blood and possessed with a mind that needs to express itself in other forms.
  • This node is socially relevant, if at least not for me, than for those who read it and share the ups and downs that life has to offer.
  • Whether you believe it or not, this node is the nature of reality. It is natural for us humans to try and communicate with one another in way that extends beyond the trading of scientific or factual information. As far as I know, we as a species have not yet been turned into robots.
  • This node contains no technical skill and maybe that’s a good thing. The telling of a good story requires more than technical skill. It requires the relater of the story strike a bond with the listener. That means holding the listeners attentions and maybe eliciting a response. Whether that response comes in the form of an upvote, downvote, or private message matters little.
  • This node is not philosophically correct mainly because I don’t adhere to one philosophy. I’ve tried over the years to stick to a rigid dogma that would make me and others around me a better person and I’ve failed miserably. I made too many snap judgments, had too narrow a perspective on certain matters and had the belief that I was always right. I wound up alienating more people than I embraced. It got lonely.
  • Any radical ideas I might have I usually try to keep to myself in the first place. Like I mentioned earlier, the writing of daylogs doesn’t necessarily include ways to change the world in some grandiose way, it usually starts at home and that’s what I write about.
  • While this node might not be entertaining to some, I’m sure to others it might be. (Now there’s a radical idea). Entertainment takes on many forms. Maybe it’s the television shows you watch, the movies you decide to see or the books that spark your imagination but then again, maybe it’s the communication that exists within a group of people that goes beyond picking up the phone and actually commits words to paper so that they are there for others to read. While my primary goal is not to entertain, I’m sure (or at least I hope so) that some have my daylogs have brought a smile or tear to somebody’s face. Doesn’t that qualify as entertainment?
  • This node contains no interesting or obscure words, it contains no colorful adjectives nor hyperbole and I don’t want it to. The beauty of plain and simple English, while sometimes hard to achieve, often speaks volumes and reaches across to more people. A good vocabulary doesn’t necessarily consist Zoroastrian terms and the overuse of adjectives used to describe daily events. After all, not everything is astoundingly outrageous or beyond all understanding. Sometimes it’s just day-to-day life that needs insights and explanations.
  • This node is difficult to read because I made it that way. I had other choices but this is the format I decided upon. I decided to make it harder on the eye to read. I wasn’t bound by any predetermined format (except for what E2 allows) and I chose to write like this.
  • This node does not contain an acceptable amount of pronouns because this node is about, well, this node. If it was about me, I doubt I could come up with many other pronouns to describe me.
  • This node requires work to read. Sorry, nobody else will do it for you. I could’ve thrown in all sorts of imaginative, informative or sarcastic pipelinks but I didn’t. I chose to keep it simple and straightforward. Maybe now, whoever reads this, has a better mental image of the type of person I am and how my thought process works. Maybe not.

This might not be the best node ever written but I think it’s far from terrible. I don’t know what purpose it serves to anybody who might read it but I know I feel better for writing it. Maybe that’s what it’s supposed to do. I don’t pretend to know if we can do better than that.

Please message me with any typos, incomplete, or incorrect sentences that you might find. I am after all, human.

Wedding Prep 101: pt.4

Well, we came up with a new date. My mom was spazzing out about not having enough time to plan. She suffers from anxiety attacks so I changed the date. I just picked a random weekend in July of next year, 2005. It ended up being the 18th, so now we have a lot more time to prepare

My sister wants to be flower girl, but my mom says she is too old. I don't think 12 is to old. Mom wants her to be a bridesmaid, but I want her to have a bigger part in the wedding.

Well, the quest continues.

I have great guys. A new round of birthdays has bumped them up to the wizened ages of 9 and 11.

Yesterday, like all Thursdays, was a long day. Up at 4 a.m., run, work from 6 to 5, battle traffic across town to school from 7 to 10, home by 10:30. Tired and hungry and just want to hit the hay, but she's awake and wrapped in a blanket on the couch, watching Without a Trace, her favorite show, and she says, "Sit here with me."

So I do.

Her legs stretch out across mine, and I rearrange the blanket. I absently start rubbing her feet, massaging her toes like prayer beads, and we catch up during commercials.

"The boys did everything today," she says. It's how we refer to them. The two oldest, SweetFaceBoy and Vonda MaShone, are always "the boys."

"Such as?"

"They played with RunningHammer outside after they did their homework. Then they helped set the table and get dinner ready. I didn't even ask them."

"Are they up to something?"

"Let me finish. They cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then they took Hammer in to the shower with them, washed him -- they actually used soap -- then, get this, they dressed him in his jammies and put him to bed."

"And there was no screaming or tears?"

"None. Well, he fussed a little, but then they told him, 'Listen, tomorrow you have a big day of playing over at Madison's so you have to get a good sleep tonight.' It was like they were singing it. He just said, 'OK', and put his head down."

"Did it work?"

"He was asleep before the room went dark."

Thoughtful pause. "Think they're up to something?"

"That's just it. You can usually tell. You know, drop hints about the next trip to Target or the rockclimbing gym or the Lego store. This time, nothing."

Another thoughtful pause. "So does this mean we're doing a good job, or is it just them?"

"I'm not worrying about that."

We watched the show for a while. She shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket higher, and the cat jumped up to perch and purr on the geometrically perfect curve of her hip. I saw her eyes slowly close.

"And SweetFace rescued a turtle from the street and put it back in the forest and MaShone found that rocket he lost in the next door backyard."

I stay awake long enough to get the recap of the debate, hoping that Dean's reshuffling and new strategy will post a few wins and soon. Carefully I lift her legs and slide around them. She does not stir, and the cat doesn't move.

In the half-light from the bathroom I see the boys on my bed. MaShone buried under the comforter, but stretched out like he's flying. SweetFace curled like a squirrel on top, dismissing this heatless house. Despite their size, there isn't an inch of room for me.

I grab a sleeping bag from the closet and unroll it at the foot of the bed. A good night's sleep, dreaming in their own space, is the least I can give my great guys.

"Happiness is..."

The whole rotation started again. I seem to look at things in a bit of a different perspective; at times, the melancholy drama that subsists in my life gets stale, like the end of a loaf of bread, the piece that isn't quite good enough to make a sandwich with. Overall, the ebb and flow of my life varies enough to keep me on high alert, but once in awhile I get into a primordial groove, gliding along, following the rails and thinking everything is alright.

"And then, and then..."

And then it hits me. She's upset again. She's back to where we left off before. What's melancholy to me is sorrow and despair to her. For some reason, the brightest star in the sky can't seem to see her own light. Of course, all stars shimmering in the night sky are surrounded by nothing more than darkness, but it is their own light that repels it, creating something for the rest of us to marvel and wonder. She shines towards our eyes, but hangs her head to prepare for the enveloping night, thinking she has to shine brighter for all of us. You only ever have to shine brighter when you want to. Not everyone is always watching.

"Oh if I could fly..."

I would build a spaceship. I would take my craft to the heavens, pull her out of that night sky, and put her next to the sun. Then maybe one who shines so bright will be forced to shine brighter, just to outdo the blazing, blinding glory next to her. Or maybe I should sit with her on the moon, talking and loving and becoming closer as we speak. And maybe, just maybe, could I take her to the depths of the universe, to show her that not all is always lost in space and time.

"A broken, shattered mess..."

I want to clean up for her. She's just stardust now, stardust and embers, and she burns out. I am there, to sweep up the ashes, to relive the moments of brightness, of happiness and glory, and to stand there and wait for her to return to that, like some sort of Phoenix rising anew. I'll never understand the cycle, I'll never understand how someone who is a supernova can not see their worth, their beauty, their purpose. But I will always try to show it to you, my star, my satellite.

"Shine for me."

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.