Post-Partum Deletion

Days Walking - 119

Robin - Thanks for the well-wishes! With as many job applications as I put in, someone's gotta be interested. I tried to present myself as a hard-working, intelligent person willing to go the extra mile and all that crap... We'll see.

As for Gabe rejoining us, I'm all for that.
I don't know where we'll be when he's ready - After the surgery, he'll need physical therapy, and we won't know till after that's over if he can manage to hike on his knee all day every day for years on end. The man's hiking days may well be over. Unless they give him a bionic leg. That would be super cool.

Reading Kthrne's delightful blog the other day, I was sad to see she'd gone through and deleted a bunch of posts. Obviously it's her realm and her word is law, but I miss those old posts.

Sometimes I go back and re-read old posts that I remember fondly - and what isn't to like about Kthrne's blog? Erotic art, The Love of The One True Shatner, Economics, Mouthless Flesh Gnawers, I could go on and on!

Some bloggers are wont to delete stuff (Robin!) and I guess I'll just have to start saving them as text documents, so that years later, I can peruse them and grin, and remember a time when Kato wasn't an International Pop Sensation.

My own personal view on deleting old posts is Bad Idea. We all get moody sometimes and look at what we've written and say "Yuck." I had a journal in seventh grade that I wrote in every day, I was completely honest and open and frank with myself.

Then we moved and I lost the journal for like a year. And when I found it again and read it, I couldn't stand how much I'd changed. I seemed so naive on those pages, from the immense perspective of just one year. I burned it in this ancient incinerator in our back yard, which probably hadn't been used in forty years and smoked so bad, the neighbor called the fire department.

(You would not believe how much trouble I got into for lighting up that incinerator. I mean, it's not like I was roasting kittens over a gasoline-filled coffee can or something. Apparently using an appliance built of cement and brick designed expressly for burning refuse is the wrong thing to do. I got a talking to from the neighbor, from the firemen, and from Dad.)

I look back now and I'm sorry I burned the journal, because as poorly written and naive and babbly a thing it had been, (not high-brow or classy like my current writing) it was a snapshot of me at that moment, in that time of my life, and I'll never get it back again.

What could that journal teach me now, what have I lost, what insight would I now be able to wring out of the pages that I was oblivious to when I scribbled my hasty, heartfelt words?

So deleted posts make me sad, even when they're not mine. I'd say if there was one lost item from my youth (yeah yeah I'm still a kid, ptthppp whatever) it would be that journal.

What would you guys reclaim from your youth?
Hmmmn?

Litany Webb, signing off

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