Sinister: sinister: i drank ice-tea this morning.

[anders]

- "hello sinister! i thought i might as well say a few words to the sinister list. 
why not?"

(i thought.
and here is the following converstaion starring me myself; - , and my negative self; ¤.)

- "why not?"

¤ "well, first of all; you don't really have anything to say?"

- "that's not a problem. i'll come up with something. i will write to write. not write because i want to write something wise and philosophic, or funny or... i mean, it doesn't have to even be special, if there only is something. something at all. and it's not like everyone that mails here have that much to say, some even seem to have just as much to say as i have"

¤ "you've got a point there, but that someone's rambling without much to say doesn't mean that you have to."

- "you didin't get my point. i'm not saying i want to write because i think other mails are boring or because i want to prove that i can do better or even be as everyone as else as you suggested. i am thinking about mailing simply because i feel that i should. i don't want to be lurking forever. and, to me; it seems harder to mail to the list for every day that passes without me mailing to the list. i seem to slide away from them, but i was thinking that if i mailed now i will get up to them again, but if i wait too long maybe i won't have the guts, you need guts to mail to such a list when you're just a shy boy, and as said, the guts required seems to increase with every day that passes, i slide away, but i'm hoping to get, in my head, up again by doing this."

¤ "ok. but why don't you just wait a couple of days. maybe something that will be worth telling about will happen within the next few days. or maybe when you start at your new school in a couple of weeks?"

- "yeah, i've been thinking that way too. but that's exactly why i'm writing now. i've been thinking like that for far too long. that to mail you have to have something that is worth telling about, something big, something that has changed your life, good or bad, something that has happened that someone'd care about. but what, i thought, do they care about? do they care about me braking my leg? not that i have, but would that be interesting? it certainly is a big change in my life, but frankly, i wouldn't care too much if a stranger said, "i broke my leg yesterday", of course i'd feel sorry for him, or her, for a moment, but i know i'd forgotten all about it ten minutes later. and it's that way with most things. although they mean a lot to someone, someone else may not care, but then, i know, you can get really interested in things that shouldn't really interest you, like when someone is telling about their socks or the colour of their living room or what sort of drink they !
 like. whether they drink orange juice or milk to breakfast, doesn't really matter, neither to them nor me, but still, it would, often, intersest me more to know that the person drank orange juice, and why, than to hear that he'd broken his arm, and why. sorry. but that's me. not that i don't care about the health of this guy, but it doesn't really give me anything to think about, except maybe; "be careful when you're riding a bike", but how exciting is that to think about? no, i realised when i thougt about this; it is not, necessarily, the content that decides how interesting something is. well it is. but you don't know what every person out there find interesting, so you have to think that the content doesn't matter, just write about what you want, and don't care too much about the rest of the world, of course you'll have to try make it nice, but...well what really matters, is that you write at all. that's what i think, and have been thinking for a while. wonder why i hav!
 en't been writing then..."

¤ "i think it is simply because you say all this, but when it comes to actually doing it... it sounds so easy. "write about everyday stuff. day to day life incidents. or big things, doesn't matter. just write and it'll all be so nice." but you don't because every time you sit there, with the cursor over the send button, ready to click, you think "why would anyone care? care about my miserable life?" and you move the cursor and instead click the red x in the top right corner. you have to have something to write about. something that'll interest, and you know it. don't try to deny it."

- "yeah, but as i said, you never know what will interest. that's the problem..."

¤ "...and if you don't say anything. you can't lose anything can you. no one even knows you're there. no one even knows that you exist."

- "and that will change now won't it?"

¤ "it would. if you had the guts to send."

- "i have. though i still don't know what to write about. i have no idea really."

¤ "that's what i said. you know you don't have anything to tell about that is even slightly interesting. just stop pretending you have. what are you going to write about?"

- "i don't know really. but... you know, that doesn't matter. i've got plenty of time to think about that. all until the next time i decide to change into the mail sending-someone from my lurking self. i don't have to write about anything now. this mail is far too long already. (and probably a bit boring too.) i've written enough by now. i know i haven't really said anything about anything. nothing too interesting, but..., maybe i'll do that the next time. whenever that'll be."

anders
x

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