I'm going to write about quitting my journal.

Not that I am quitting because really, I don't think your poor little hearts could take it. I know mine couldn't.

For those of you who are not in the journal "community," let me sum up. We've had a wave of journal demises lately-- I guess when one person quits, everyone else starts thinking about when they should end their journals, and for some, the answer seems to be, "Well, right this very second seems to be a good time..." and so it goes.

But of course, when people quit, especially good friends, especially good friends with whom you were just discussing the possibility of quitting the other day at coffee, not to name any names, you start to evaluate your own reasons for writing.

My reasons are simple. It's fun. I like the feedback. I like having my friends knowing what's going on with me. I like having a soapbox. I like the support. I like being able to watch myself grow as a person. I love having a record of what I'm doing, reading, watching, thinking. I don't know. I just like it.

I've never felt a sense of drudgery about this journal. I've never considered my e-mail backlog a burden. I've never really considered quitting.

I promise that I'll try to give fair warning if I do. Man, I hate when people quit all of a sudden. It spooks me. At least when people taper off slowly, you sort of know it's coming. Or if people drop hints in entries that yes, maybe the time has come. That's better than quitting out of the blue, I think. At least from the selfish perspective of a reader.

I mean, I don't know. I have different levels of reaction to journals quitting. Sometimes, I am really sad because the journal is at the top of its form and its writer is important to me. Sometimes I was expecting it and I am braced for it. Sometimes, I sense that the person's heart really wasn't in it anymore, so the time seems to be right. Sometimes it's a journal I only read sporadically, and so other journals come in to fill the void.

And of course, sometimes people come back. Or at least update to their notify lists. I hate the idea of friends vanishing off into the sunset forever. Something major could happen in the lives of some ex-journalers and I wouldn't ever know it. I'm out of the loop even though they have been, through their web words, a sort of friend. I guess that's fairly twisted and invasive. But it's how I feel anyway.

To be honest, I keep my journal going for my readers. That's why you'll never catch me saying that I get too much mail, please don't write to me. When someone writes to say the Sims made them laugh, it makes me fire up the game and work on a new Sims entry. When people check in with me, I want to give them something to look at. When people evince an interest in the events of my life, it makes me happy. It makes me want to write more. (And yeah, it's narcissism too.)

I assume that people care about my journal and my life the way I care about other people. Oh, I'm sure there are people out there who just love to hate me, or who read me out of loyalty, or scan my entries for stuff about sex. But amidst all of that, there are people who would be sad if I quit.

So I won't quit, at least not right this very second. See how easy that is?

Disclaimer: if you have recently quit, are intending to quit, or in any other way decide this applies to you personally, please know that I am talking about myself only. There are journalers out there who have been doing this way longer, get way more e-mail, and have way different reasons for doing this and for stopping. They are not me, I am not them. We clear on this? Greeeeat.

I worked on my reader last night. (Have I actually explained what a reader is? It's something that you use in class in lieu of a textbook. It's just a bound book of photocopied sheets. Since my class is a poetry workshop, my reader will include a bunch of poems-- three to four per week-- on various poetic topics. I'm finding myself trying to sneak my favorite poems into the reader, even if "The Second Coming" by Yeats doesn't fit into any of my categories, and "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is too long.) Yes, I actually did, for several hours, in fact. It's going to be a lot of work, though. I guess it's fortunate that I only got scheduled 10 hours next week, so I have some more days off to work on it.

But I look around and my room needs to be cleaned and vacuumed, my laundry needs to be done, my closet needs to get cleaned out, my bathroom needs to be cleaned again, phone calls need to get made and various and sundry other things need to get done.

How come when I was depressed, none of this needed to get done? The only thing on the "to do" list was, "Sit around and watch movies, or play on the computer, or read, or stare at the birds or do absolutely nothing. Who cares? Not I, your to do list. Nope, don't care. Do whatever the hell you want. I'm going back to bed."

Weird.

I went to Borders today to spend a gift certificate. There's nothing like the freedom of shopping, knowing you can buy basically anything you want in the whole store. I came away with two DVDs, the Goddess tarot deck, three pieces of candy, and a book called "Poets Teaching Poets" which seems like it will be hecka good.

It was especially nice since I paid my bills last night, leaving me with exactly 57 cents in my checking account. So I'm poor, but I was able to go shopping anyway. And I still have $40 left on my gift certificate. I live to shop another day.

I totally embarrassed myself ordering a latte at their café. I'm like, "I want a foamy latte. No, a wet cappuccino. Well, something with two shots in it. And extra foam. A medium. Oh, really? Okay, then I guess it will have to be a latte. Did I mention nonfat milk?"

I then admitted that I work in a coffee shop, so really I should know better. She said, "Well, I'm guessing that even though you work in a coffee shop, you don't actually make the coffee. Am I wrong?" Oh god. I said, "Actually, I'm pretty good at making coffee. Really. No, really. Really."

I don't think she believed me. And since the crook of my arm is black and blue with a little red needle mark, I'm sure she drew her own conclusions.

"As for Gore, I don't care what anyone says, his 'earth channel' with a live satellite picture of the earth is cool as hell. And unlike my boyfriend, I don't think it would be improved by adding porn music."