On Inside Jokes
17 June 2009 at 3:34 pm

Correct me if I'm wrong, but my writing improves exponentially when I consider who might be reading. As I invite more people in, and as more people find their way on their own, my little story changes such that there are inside jokes directed towards specific individuals in every entry I post here. Sometimes I point it out, when it involves one of the characters I've created on here, even if that person will never read it, and sometimes I wonder if the other person will ever get it (there's one for the ex-roommate bitch).

My writing is inspired by depression, elation, irony, sarcasm, and tedious minutiae, and recently, by other people, be it their influence on my candor, a specific moment that begs for remark, or their own contributions to this land of egomaniacal essays.

I've been calling it that for awhile now: "my writing." That's so misleading. It's not my writing anymore, once I post it. Even if no one ever reads it, I'm struggling to read it through other people's eyes. It becomes my mother's story, and I read it in her voice, how she would focus on certain things, if she might be scandalized or wish she hadn't read something because now we can't talk about it (it was with that caveat -- heh, there's one for Maddie -- that I gave her permission. She's known about this thing all along, when Joanna gave her the address in an effort to tell my mom I needed help because I was cutting myself. What a little emo bullshitter I was).

Have you ever been described as "beautifully punctuated?" GOD, it works on so many levels, it drives me crazy.

How about "terrifying?" "I found your diary to be terrifying." I was so tickled! It reminds me of a conversation I had with my brother, when I was going through one of my Era of Crazy, when I said that it seems like everyone is scared of me. Not for me, mind you: of me. ("Oh, it's just a harmless little bunny, isn't it?") I'm capable of hurting people, and I've done it such that people who weren't harmed in the process are now scared of me. Intimidating? Me? Sure, why not?

Hanging out in Ellwood with the new girl, she's telling a story about some way-too-into-life guy she met at a party, who was way too into life, and I say something like, "I think that's my main problem in life: I really cannot take anyone or anything seriously, so I just laugh at everything, especially when it's really inappropriate." She laughed and said that's why she loved me, in that way that you say when you don't, really (that's for mb).

But I say all this (to wrap this up) to explain that if anything I put here doesn't make any sense (and I could be talking just to future me, who will inevitably read this, probably a year from now, and wonder what in the hell I was going on about), it's because of an inside joke I had with you, or someone like you, or possibly just myself. Heh.

And also as a reminder, I can barely take myself seriously, so you shouldn't really either.


mod l post-mod



About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.