I’m suffering from a general sense of malaise these days, a combination no doubt, of too much stress, not enough sleep and various changes including the weather and the persistent thinning out of my daily reads.
Lucy wrote recently that she will be leaving the ranks of online journallers once she graduates from college. Soon, hers too will join the marching line of commented out URLs on my “Others” page.
This page was once very long, populated with a plethora of journals that I kept up with regularly. These days it’s getting rather thin, especially since many of the links that are still on there point to sites that aren’t updated regularly. I’m finding that when it comes to journals, I’m resistant to change. I don’t like to lose reads and feel a small sense of mourning every time one of my favorites closes up shop.
Sure, I’ve picked up the odd new read here and there, but I’m beginning to feel a little bit like a dino, to borrow a term from the MUSHing world. By no means was I among the first online journallers, not a pioneer of the medium, but perhaps I could be described as an early adopter. There are a few of the pioneers around, still updating, still writing, though most seem to have changed the way in which they update. It’s hard to describe, but the writing is simply different. Most of us do evolve after all, after doing this for a few years.
At any rate I’m beginning to feel my age a little, so to speak, in terms of writing here. I feel like the style of journal that I write, the style of journal that I was originally interested in is becoming more rare, giving way beneath the onslaught of the weblog format. In other words, the writing is getting shorter, less like a story, more like a snippet, at least in most of the circles I’ve been traveling in.
Then again, maybe I’m not being fair — after all, there were plenty of active journallers at JournalCon and I did up a new read or two as a result of the Con. I guess I just miss the way things were … miss the excitement of finding a new journal when there were so many fewer to find, miss some of the people I used to be in touch with, who have dropped quietly silent.
I will miss Lucy’s journal greatly when she’s done, another familiar voice moving on to other things — which is a good thing — but leaving me feeling bereft and a little bit lonely out here.