I always wonder who reads this. I try to never write for anyone else; after all, the things I write about are things that bother me, that I need to get down. It puzzles me sometimes when I read people’s journals, and they start to talk to their friends about something, or to some phantom audience. I can understand why one would do that though, since the point of some are to inform friends of how one is doing. More often than not, however, it seems to be an exercise in narcissism.
I wonder what someone would think of me, if they were reading this without ever meeting me. Would they be able to see all sides of me? Would they be able to understand who I really am? Most of the time, what I write is out of necessity, and ends up being some sort of complaint, rant, or confusion.
I think most people would believe that I’ve lost hope. It’s quite the contrary really. Ever since the summer, I’ve gained hope to a degree. Of course, I’ve often stated that hope is a bad thing, and I still feel that way to a degree.
What I’ve come to realize is that I should possibly try to hope for the future, but not get my hopes up. The difference between the two is in length of time. Getting one’s hopes up has a more short-term connotation for more tangeable ideas, whereas hoping for the future is thought of as hoping for something that is currently unknown. If the future is ever to become the present, I’ll try to keep myself more grounded.
And if the present were to come to fruition?
Maybe it would be a good thing.