the_goren_show

Why the hell is it that the same winter road dirt that...

... turns white cars black ...

... and black cars white ...

... makes my dried blood colour car look as if it's been dipped in liquid shit?

I write, except when I don't.  To be more specific, I role play in text based games, both as part of a group and one on one.  The RP doesn't much bug me, it's my way of parsing my world and dealing with things and I've never questioned it.  It is just a part of me to let out the voices in a safe place.  (And yes, I am aware of how insane that makes me sound.  Just wait, naysayer, it gets better for you ahead.)  

Lately, I've lost a lot of my RP stomping grounds, both in terms of group places and single players.  One was by choice and I was the one who pulled the plug because it was undeniably time to let the board sleep with its dignity intact, however shabby.  The others have been incidental losses, where any number of my favorite long term RP writing partners have been called back to serve in Real Life.  That's not unheard of and while it can really hurt for a bit when someone does that, I try and be philosophical about it.  They've found something in RL that makes them happy, so I will be happy for them for that reason because RL > RP, always.

Turns out, I've been pretty lucky in my RP life.  Most of the people I've RPed with were mature enough to know when to pull the plug on the game and tell me about it honestly.  They didn't come in every few days to tell me how bad life was or how busy they were and if they weren't so tired, they'd love to RP.  They didn't plot with me about storylines they knew they would never be able to play out.  They didn't rave about the story we were writing in game or the characters and how much they loved and missed them.  They didn't then go and disappear for three weeks before rinsing and repeating the whole process.

This person did and like a fool I swallowed it hook line and sinker because I had already lost so much RP-wise.  The last conversation I had with this woman, she told me things were calming down and then plotted with me about what came next in our story and let me get really excited that this would actually happen.  In fact, the last thing she said to me verbatim from the messenger client about our RP.  "I swear to you, come hell or high water, we are picking up next week. We have to. It is killing me!"

Three weeks later... I almost hope she's dead because I continue to refuse to believe that she would put me through this hell.

I am mentally blocked for writing.  I can't seem to write anything, including this journal entry which has taken me days to try and put together coherently.  My confidence in my abillity to write, battered already by the death of the RP board, is on life support with one toe in the grave.  I'm torn between missing an amazing RP partner and wishing her ill.  She gutted the story and, to some extent, me as storyteller by breaking my heart for the game because she didn't have the decency to just out and tell me "Look, you're a good friend but my RL needs me more right now."

I could have accepted that.  It would have been bitter sweet but hey, I've been there before a time or two. 

After six weeks of this (three before the it's killing me and three after), I'm tired of sitting around waiting for her to come back, so I'm going to call this RP dead too and chalk it up in the books as called for lack of honesty.  I think I can save the character with a reboot back to where he was because, honestly, I feel right there with him - kicked to the curb like I was worthless.

Why do I keep trying to start a journal?

It isn't that I want to share my life with anyone.  Most of the people I know don't even know this page exists and I will likely keep it that way.  Some parts of your life you don't want to share.

So why journal in the first place online you might ask, and I have no real answer for you.

Maybe, just maybe, there's a certain comfort in the anonymity of the dark internet night; a certain relief in letting the thoughts that plague your mind free to float on the cyber wind like a message in a bottle.  Most people will glance at the bottle and keep on passing, some will pick it up, inspect it for value then toss it away.  But there will be a rare few who find the gem hidden in the ashes of another's anonymous confessions - those who see the beauty in not only the grains of sand on the bottle but the message within, however much of a lament the message is.

Somewhere out there, someone is seeking understanding that comes best anonymously.

I can't explain it better than that.