I don't like that. I have never liked it about myself that I care what other people think enough to dictate my actions.
I don't like that I feel as though I have been distilled through a dozen filters before I am spread out in some alien form on your screens.
I like the idea of being able to see and share thoughts and observations. I love seeing tidbits of art and stories. I am not (as you may guess) fond of quiz results that are the same for 9/10ths of my friends. I like reading some of the surveys out there. I enjoy thought-provoking discussions. I like seeing a look at what life in other places of the world is like.
I think I expected LJ to be something that it isn't. I began my own journal with long rambling entries about recent events in my life. That's what I thought it would be for me; literally an on-line journal.
It is a method of communication, as a journal is not and was never meant to be.
I crave... response. It is similar to the Elfwood comment-craving syndrome. I even write things solely to get response, and I don't like that at /all/. I am more concerned with what /you/ think than with what /I/ think.
'Do I post too much?' Jessi asked once, and I replied at once, 'of course not, it is your journal, and you should post for yourself.'
I don't post for myself anymore. I'm not even sure I read for myself.
I am at a junction then. Write again for and as myself? Get rid of the commenting feature altogether on my entries? Post privately only? Abandon this journal and return to my long-neglected paper journal? So much of me is curious. I /care/ what other people think of what I write. Not only for their approval and that warmth of being interesting to others, but also for their own ideas that may have been spawned by what I had to say.
I value the connections that I've made here, but I find that as a definition of friends, this journal is lacking. Don't read what I'm not writing; you are not lacking as friends! I would like to find another way to connect with you. Every way that I have found is flawed. None of you live close to me, so we cannot meet for lunch. Chatrooms and messageboards and email talk have their own problems. For someone who produces stationery, I am pathetic at snail mail.
I am discontent with this system. I am displeased with my own flawed self. I am uncertain of my purpose with this journal.