I’ve been writing on the internet since the late 1990’s. I was fresh out of high school and my dad had just subscribed to AOL. After the novelty of chat rooms and instant messages wore off, I delved in to the world of webpages. I opened my first homepage using AOL’s web editor. It was horrible.
It was also around this time that I met J.
They weren’t called blogs back then, they were simply online journals hand coded in HTML. Blogger wasn’t even an idea, yet. I would get lost in a vast world of webrings and animated gifs for hours, if not days, on end. After awhile I made friends, I felt accepted. It didn’t matter that it was all in text.
At that time, I wrote about J and our relationship. I typed away my side of every argument. Exaggerations were created for the sake of drama. Mountains were formed out of tiny ant hills. I also composed angst-filled poetry and prose saturated in obtuse metaphors. I tried too hard to be deep and misunderstood, as is the story of many people at that age. It was before I was a mother, or had any real direction. To be a complete cliche, I was still in the process of finding myself.
I’ve shared a lot with the internet over the years.
And I’m still sharing. Except now, I have a better idea of who I am. Along with writing for myself, I share these snippets for my children. J and I have grown together. I don’t have time to rile up drama, or metaphors for that matter. There are those that do, and they do it well, but I’m more for the straight forward. There is little I still see of that girl I was back then, some 10 years ago. If I were to meet her today, about the only thing we’d have in common, aside from a mess of unruly hair, is that we both write on the internet.