I have the feeling here with this journal as if I’m in a plane, gliding down without power, trying to decide whether to land or fire up the engine again.  It might be time to set the damn thing down, get out and walk.

I started Evaporation to see if I could hang on to whatever writing chops I may have once had.  That was the intent.  Not self-revelation, not community-finding, not socializing.  I didn’t promote it, didn’t care about stats.  The entries used to be a lot more frequent.  Gosh, those were the days.  Remember caring?

It came into its own after about half a year or so, having developed a character out of the shape of its wake, I suppose.  That’s when I recognized I had something going.  This started in 1998, a time when not many other folks were doing it, and the novelty helped to keep up my enthusiasm.  I had, by then, acquired a taste for this poison and could detect the same proclivity in a few other online journalers.  Good writing tended to find its own kind out there, and there were clusters of like-minded folks who adhered to one another out of admiration, or social aspiration, or lust, or ego.  Or who knows what.  Age took a hand in things as well, as it always does in group interactions.

For me, the experience peaked somewhere in 2000, after that whole phone booth business.  That escapade was unique in its birth and nature, and remains a symbol for the bleeding edge of internet self-awareness.

I’ve sure met some nice people because of this.  You may be one of them.  Unless you’re Chuck.  Okay, that was a joke.  But seriously, meeting readers has been wonderful.  That alone has made it all worth it.  For you.  Again with the joking.

But here it is almost 2006.  The fun is slowing, mostly because I’m slowing.  It’s the momentum that’s gotten me this far.  What should I do?

I’m not a blogger, at least not in the strict and proper sense of the word.  I’m not a LiveJournal type of person, which is to say I’m not a girl, I am not interested in gossip, nor do I dot my “i”s with little hearts.  I do not like affecting a breezy manner in my writing, nor will I use the term “squee.”

As you can see, I enjoy being a bitter old man.

I guess I’ll keep doing this. 

Dammit.

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