Setaú úta (setauuta) wrote,
Setaú úta
setauuta

I remember an English teacher I had who drove me absolutely insane by constantly asking about what I wrote "So what?" I know she was trying to get me to think about why I wrote what I did, and when I took it into account, it did make my writings better. Now, I realize that I need to take that into account with what I say, too. So many of my words are empty, meaningless, nothing. I mentioned to someone ealier tonight how I'd read a cat and her three kittens had been found in the rubble of the World Trade Center - his response of "That's nice", with the tone he used, was the kind of thing you say when a child tells you something and you really don't care about what they're talking about. I haven't grown up enough to realize that not everyone cares about what I care about. Thus, everything I talk about matters to me alone, and serves only to fill dead air and demonstrate my immaturity. The words I say don't actually mean anything. Makes me wonder if anything I do actually means anything. If I'll ever learn the fine art of shutting up.

After all that, you may very well ask why I still write, and why I still post it publically. Yet another sign of my immaturity - I still feel the need to tell people how I feel. Plus, this is a "safe" way of expressing myself without saying anything face to face. If nothing else, I've learned I need to vent somewhere.

There's also a bit of comfort knowing that no one has to read this - it isn't like I'm talking to you, making you listen to me. You can stop reading whenever you want.

This is for me.
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