It’s not that I wanted to quit writing, not at all. As a matter of fact, in the last week since I’ve stopped, I’ve had more to write about than ever before. I just didn’t want drama, I didn’t want confrontation, and I didn’t want to have to answer questions. I pretty much took the pussy way out.

I’ve been overwhelmed with the nice comments and e-mails and whatnot, and that’s made quitting even harder. I’ve been contemplating whether or not an online journal is a good thing – whether maybe we look for justification of our good and bad decisions through the encouragement of others. People who aren’t the least bit knowledgeable about situations, but who tend to relate on some level and give momentum to paths a journal writer wouldn’t necessarily have taken.

All in all, I’ve decided that it’s not so bad. I’ve decided that keeping a journal – having to put coherent words to thoughts – helps me stay inside my head much better. And, god, truth be known (not that this will come as any big surprise), I’m about the biggest attention whore imaginable. I find it hard to write on my own, at least stuff that has any amount of structured thought, unless I have an immediate audience.

All of that was a huge prelude to a really simple fact. I’m going to start a new journal, only I’m going to make more of an effort to leave out facts about people in my life, people who could ultimately be hurt (my family included) by truths that aren’t necessarily mine to tell.

I’m not writing in it yet, so this whole post is a bit premature, but fuck it. I’ve been jonesing to post for days now.

The new diary is at syncope.diaryland.com, and I’m not going to start up there until I tweak a template to my desires.

Until then.

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