my springy avatar & the very last page
Today I dressed my avatar. I could even change her size, although I could only fatten her up to a point (clicking and watching as her unclothed thighs grew elastic and comely right in front of me… but only comely to a point, as I said).
She doesn’t really look like me. She’s wearing more red than I ever would all in one go. And the hair’s not quite right. Plus she’s a bit too springy. I feel like I need to put gravel in her shoes or something. I am going to change her outfit tomorrow. She’s going to slip into something more comfortable. I say she because she only has a number: 37500932.
Just before I pulled out all my old diaries. I wanted to find the very last page. On it are my two final diary entries: 05.06.01 and 12.11.01. [See below.]
The other day a friend and I were drinking in the den late into the night and our conversation turned to the stomach-turning shame that only a diary exhumation can bring about. How can you (you being your younger, gaucher, greener, wobblier, less-formed self) not sound stupid and petty and concerned with trifling things? And why is it you have held on to all these pieces of paper all these years? Did you think you or your unwitting progeny were going to find some evidence of genius buried there, well after the fact?
And the worst part of it all is not the reading over it and thinking: god what a fucking muppet I was, but the part where there is no past tense. You’re still a dead ringer for your younger self — as pathetic and trifling as you ever were — but just a bit craggier, a bit less sweet (despite the name and perhaps because of the company you keep, maybe). It’s your most accurate characterisation ever. [Oh lord I have just started to take this second person thing too far, so am just going to snap out of it right here.]
So, the last page. Bermuda (July 2001). Wellington (November 2001). Interesting that my very last sentence was: That’s all. As in that’s all, folks. I hadn’t intended it to stop right there. But stuff happened, as stuff does, and I suppose, after 12 years given over to it as a matter of habit, I didn’t feel much like persisting with the sulky art of diary writing any more.
Reading about Bermuda did take me back, though. I am going to go back there and research the family history and write a 600-page bodice-ripper (think stormy seas and poinsettia and crabgrass and pastel and men with skin so glisteningly deeply black you can’t look away). Soon.
And thinking of Bermuda, I pulled out this, the Bermuda tray I am about to start restoring for my mother.
But I digress (even though I’m still kind of on topic, broadly speaking).
So. THE LAST DAYS OF THE DIARY:
Filed under: clutter, daytoday, digitalia, family, found stuff, nostalgia, thinking, travelling, writing | 2 Comments
Tags: avatar, Bermuda, diary, every day, views, writing