I just deleted 63 GB of music off of my hard drive with a few button clicks.

As I watched the deletion bar progress, I unexpectedly felt a faint yet horrible scream echo deep inside my core. It was the younger me. He was raging with primal fury at the vaporization of his collection.

Too bad the younger me has just about faded away and old-ass me can’t be bothered to stay on top of that shit anymore. Pandora my young ghost. Pandora.

My keyboard is broken. I spilled apple-cinnamon tea all over my desk and keyboard. Now I’m click-typing with an on-screen keyboard. Each letter is so deliberate and laborious.

Moving in with my girlfriend next week. Cleaning out things and finding many traces of the old one. She’s been mostly reduced to a taped up shoebox, but nine years has a way of being indelible. Going through my desk’s filing cabinet meant finding documents that I would have a hard time explaining to my new partner. Memories can turn so bittersweet.

While walking to work today in the gray, light rain, I thought about how much I miss writing in a place where another human might read my words and share in a small experience that’s unique to me. I miss this because solitary writing is so lonely.

Soft shock is my favourite song of the last five years.

I’m sick, staying home from work today. A post?  Let’s indulge this whim.

Living with two roommates in Cambridge, MA. Thirty years old. Working as an associate scientist. Have had the same girlfriend for a year and a half. No pets. Getting into plants. ho hum.

Plants are my new obsession. It feels like I’m hitting this life stage a little early, but maybe that’s what happens when you don’t have kids at thirty.

So, I went to an online retailer and bought a bunch of seeds. I wanted uniqueness. Plants that every grandma on the block couldn’t be a smug, know-it-all about. And I wanted plants that smelled awesome. I want my room to be a fragrant jungle of vegetation. I picked out and ordered Night Blooming Jasmine, Sweet Shade, Orange Jasmine, Winter Sweet and a Coffee plant. I’m germinating them from seed to big, healthy plant. Right now I’ve only been able to make the Night Blooming Jasmine and Winter Sweet sprout. Outside in my garden I have cosmic red french pumpkin, giant broccoli, spinach, snow peas, tomatoes, and purple cosmic carrots. I love my plants. On Sunday I ordered nine more types of seed from the fragrant plant section.

I’m going to move in with my girlfriend in September. Still in the Cambridge, MA area somewhere. I’m happy and well.

I’m still in Cambridge…. I’m addicted to podcasts. I wish I wasn’t. Having other people’s thoughts constantly running through my head means I never think.

My Ex-girlfriend, ***** came back to read my page. My last public post is an honest letter to her about how I feel toward her now. I wrote it because I feel bad about the taint our breakup left on my memories of our problematic, but loving relationship. I don’t want any sort of future relationship with *****. I am very happy with Claw, we are a much better match than ***** and I ever were. I just wanted ***** and I to remember each other fondly. I can’t stand the thought of someone I loved cringing when remembering me.

I had sent the last communication. A card communicating the above thought to her. I never received any indication she ever received it. I thought she had possibly moved away. So I didn’t send anything else. No email, no letters, nothing. It nagged at me that she may not have ever seen my card. I pictured her boyfriend intercepting it. I pictured her trashing it the instant she saw it was from me.

So a lot of time passed. The better part of a year. I still think about her. She is attached to so many memories. The stubborn reasonable part of me refused to initiate any further communication with her. I was getting the cold shoulder. I am no stalker, I don’t hard sell. If you reject me, I won’t try and win you over. It’s your loss. However…..

I wrote a signpost here for her. I believed that someday she would revisit this page. If she seeked me out, if she initiated, if she showed some shred of a sign that she remembers me, then she would have my letter.

So she emailed me about it. She has moved on. She is engaged. She wishes me well. She doesn’t want me to write again.

This is all I wanted. I feel content. I want her to be happy. I want her husband to treat her well. But most of all, I wanted her to know I still care about her.

I’m legitimately angry at my girlfriend for the first time tonight. She’s in the shower, I’m on the chair in the hotel room not knowing how to react.

I feel partially at fault.

I should just tell her honestly how I feel when she gets out of the shower.

We are in Chicago. She has an old girlfriend she has known about 15 Years longer than me. We went out to have some famous Chicago food downtown.

It started out well. Then I was cut out of the conversation. I zoned out because they had so much backstory that they fell into, while I was quietly excluded. Her friend gossipped at a rapid pace. Gf, indulged her, contributing less. I felt nonexistent. I felt angry that I was completely excluded. I feel angry that gf didn’t have the foresight to leave me out of the reunion if they were just going to reminisce for 4 hours while I did my best to politely sit at the table and not look completely bored out of my mind. I am mad that gf didn’t recognize this and do something to help me out. Ask me how Im doing. Ask if I wanted to get out there.

The worst was that I asked beforehand if I should be included or not. I don’t know if my anger is justified or not.

Everyone leaves traces online. It makes it difficult to forget people.

P.S. I’m thirty now.

I’m in a strange mood.

No I’m not. Restlessness is so so so familiar.

I feel like I’m losing the ability to write honestly. To think honestly.

Claw loves me so much. She has fallen for me hard. And how do I feel?………..

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I changed my mind. I don’t agree with that last entry.

I really wish this was a better place to write… but it isn’t.

Too many in your face features. Most of the time I just want a simple place to write.

Xanga originally did this well. It offered people a way to write within an online community without having to create their own webpages, or deal with servers, or html code, etc. It eliminated the need to deal with all the techy aspects of sharing your own writing on the internet. This was, and still is a good concept.

But they screwed it up. And I don’t need to waste my time telling you how.