Surrogate

It occurs to me that this blog may actually be a poor stand-in for a significant other in my life. I just got into the blog scene this week, and I already find myself having thoughts and saying, "I want to write that down...I could put that on my blog." I think those thoughts would be things that I would share with my imagined wife. I've gone without sharing those thoughts for so long, waiting for a partner to share them with, that now I find it very refreshing to have an outlet.

Blog away, Bog.

Of course, I don't exactly have much of a readership, and not really any dialogue, so it is a poor replacement for a warm, responsive body to talk to. But at least it's a replacement. I can even sometimes imagine that someone out there is going to read it.

Anyway, in an interesting contrast to the blog, I just talked with my Dad and Mom on the phone and let them know the news about the internship. There's the responsive body. And it was more fulfilling to tell them and get their responses, compared to the open-ended nature of the blog: my precious thoughts hanging out there in cyberspace; floating around, waiting for someone to glace at it and hopefully say, "oh, what a pretty constelation of words and ideas. I'd like to see this again and see how the constelation changes with time." But for now, it's just hanging out there.

And it occurs to me that this is somewhat like my dating life as well. I sometimes feel that I am floating out there in daterspace, waiting for someone to glace up and say, "oh, what an intriguing constelation of thoughts, qualities, and behavior. I would like to learn more about it and see how it changes with my influence." Of course, the guilty little part of me reminds me that plenty of women have done this, and I have rejected so many.

Maybe I'm more like a spinner lure, trolling along for fish. But not just any fish will do. I'm in some inexplicable fishing competition with unknown competitors, and I'm catching and releasing like a mad man, just hoping that through statistical sampling, I'm bound to catch the rare, prize fish.

Okay, somehow my metaphore shifted from me being a spinner to me being the fisherman. Does that reflect the Western Philosophical influence in my thinking: I've always got to be in control, not just an item in a bigger scene. And another somewhat disturbing implication to that metaphore: can anyone say "Catch 22?"

So I'm stuck streaming my consciousness onto an electric screen instead of sharing my intimate thoughts with someone I know. I hope you as my immagined reader appreciates the fascinating postition that technology allows us to assume in other peoples lives.

Now back to reality.