So this is it. The end of this blog.

I didn't think it would really come about this way. After over a year of working with this thing, I always imagined myself having to abandon it in some grand fashion, like suddenly being whisked away to a remote part of the world to work on a top-secret project with only the clothes on my back and a few moments to say goodbye to my loved ones.

Or more likely, I'd just die. The way everyone dies. Then, thirty days later my little death post would come up saying how I wished I had said this to that person or done something with someone or had gone back to some place one last time. But it isn't going to.

I never imagined it would because I just felt so...tired.

There isn't always happy ending to every story, with all the loose ends tied up and everyone smiling as they face the new day. Nor is there always a sad ending, with tear-streaked and grim faced warriors fighting a losing battle knowing they were doing the right thing.

Sometimes, all we get is an ending.

* * * * * *

Why? I've been wondering that myself. For the past while, I've been reading and re-reading all of my old journals that I've dug up during my emigration from my old room to my new one.

I don't recognize the person that wrote them.

It's fun, in a way. I think I've used this analogy before, but reading old writings can be like watching those old, grainy, home movies. "Man, I can't believe I thought I looked good in that!" or "Sheesh, I used to start crying at the drop of a hat!" or the occasional, "Heh, I'd bounce off that wall and get right back up like it was nothing!

I miss the way I wrote. My voice has changed so much since a year ago. It has become aloof, arrogant, and pretentious. When in the hell did I start taking myself so seriously?

I don't like it. I'm going to stop it.

* * * * * *

I won't miss a lot of things.

I won't miss feeling like someone is looking over my shoulder every time I type something out.

I won't miss the paranoia that I get every time I hit the "Publish" button. I won't go to sleep wondering if I've committed the literary equivalent of having forgotten to zip up my pants after walking out of the bathroom.

I won't miss how I now divide people into two categories: The ones that read or might read my blog, and the ones who don't know it exists. I don't like how I've been using the ones that don't know as fodder for myself and the ones that do read.

I hate censoring my own thoughts because I'm afraid of offending people. I hate the quibbling that arises because I voice how I'm feeling at this particular moment in time. I hate that there are those that get offended by the conclusions I've drawn about life and then fail to realize that I didn't break into their house, sign them on to the internet, hold their eyelids open with some Clockwork Orange-ish device, and then make them read what I wrote.

I just want to shout, "You came here! You! Came! Here! As uppitty as you might be trying to make yourself feel, you cannot escape the simple fact that you are just another lowly human being who started out knowing absolutely nothing and despite the fact that you have such an incredibly short-life span in which to learn anything at all, you are doubtless doing a number of things to make that life-span even shorter!"

I might be wrong but at least I'm optimistic, idiot.


* * * * * *

I've been using this blog as a replacement for more traditional social interaction. I've spent less and less time with actual people and more and more time trying to stretch the five-minute interaction I had with the outside world into a page-long entry to convince myself that I am not a total recluse. Alecia summed it up pretty well last Saturday night at Mai's house. "Guillermo, I haven't seen you in so long! I mean, it's weird, I haven't seen you, but I read your blog. It's like I know you, but I don't."

Ah, the double-edged sword that is the blog. To know someone, but not know them. I don't like the idea of people second-guessing everthing they know about me.

This blog, I do love it. I love that I've gotten to know people so much better, and have even gotten to meet shiny new people. It's just not what I need to be doing right now.

I'm not fond of goodbyes. In fact, this entry has turned out to be much longer than I originally wanted it to be. It is strange to write this. I am fighting this yearning to take just a little bit longer; to spend just a few more sentences here with you.

I guess I'm just being theatrical.

It is best, I think, that I do not draw this out any more. I'll just go. After all, I am quite good at just going.

So, having said all this: Why? I was happy here. Now I'm not.

There is an entire world out there. And there is not enough of me here.

I'm going to find a place where I can spread out my arms and say, "Here, here I'm alive."

The End