Apr. 15th, 2017

skeeve: (Skeeve)
Livejournal - or at least, the english-speaking parts of Livejournal that I tended to frequent - is pretty much a dead platform. Hundreds, thousands of journals and communities that have slowly trickled off to a halt as their owners found themselves less and less motivated to post here. It's certainly not a criticism - heavens knows that's the story of my entire journal, but it is definitely less crowded around these parts.

Although this is my first post in over seven years, I actually still frequent Livejournal quite a bit - there are a few bloggers that I follow that still post here pretty regularly, so checking for updates has become a part of my daily routine in a way that Facebook or Twitter hasn't. And I think part of that has to do with how well preserved Livejournal is.

Every now and then I'll get the urge to just open up someone's journal - sometimes it's someone I know, sometimes it's someone I knew, sometimes a friend of a friend. And I'll go all the way to their first entry, and just read. It's like an expertly preserved archaeological record - perfect snapshots of the moments in people's lives that they've chosen to share with everyone. In a way, it's like getting to know someone - whether that's for the first time, or all over again.

But then, the entries just stop.

Sometimes abruptly - a last entry will be a perfectly in keeping with the theme of the journal to that point, but... there just won't be any more. Other times it's more gradual, the last four or five entries being long, rambling accounts of the things that have happened in their lives in the four months since they posted last. Usually, these last posts are always in 2007 or 2010, which is one of those odd coincidences that I wonder if it has any meaning.

But those endings are always kind of unsettling, somewhat unfulfilling. Like reading the first two parts to a trilogy, then realizing you don't have the third book and it's long since out of print. Like the characters in those books, I feel like I've gotten to know these writers, even if it is a completely one-sided acquaintance, and reaching the end of a journal is somewhat melancholy, like saying goodbye to someone you know you'll probably never see again. I can't help but wonder about these people I've gotten to know. How are they doing? Are they alright? Did they ever get that job in Utah? How did their chemotherapy go? Did their child ever get over that illness? Are they still alive? Are they happy?

As I've grown older, however, I've realized I'm not as unique or misunderstood as I thought I was - the truth is no one ever is, but it can be hard to see that having trouble communicating your innermost thoughts and feelings is a part of the human condition; it takes a pretty hefty dose of perspective. And so I've realized that I'm probably not the only person who does this. Maybe some of those people have read through my journal, are wondering if I'm okay, if I'm happy, if I'm alive.

Honestly, I am. And if you feel like you know me, and want to find out what happened in that last book in the trilogy, leave a comment or drop me a line, and we'll catch up.

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