Oct. 9, 1999


I'm not normal.

I'm not your normal middle-aged suburban housewife-mother.

I don't have standing appointments at the hairdresser and manicurist. (My hair is long and coloured back to its original brown; my nails are au naturel.)
I don't have a "dressmaker". I have 5 pairs of jeans but no skirts in my rotation.
I wish my sons would grow their hair longer.
You won't catch me lining up for tickets to see Barbra Streisand or Celine Dion. Check the Pink Floyd line, I'm there.
I don't own a "Chicken Soup for the Soul" book.
I don't watch Oprah, Sally, Ricki, Jenny, Jerry, Montel, or Maury. I don't even know which of those are available on our cable system.
I do watch CNN and sports on TV.
Judge Judy is my latest role model.
I know more about computers and the internet than any of the 3 males living in my household.
I don't fit in.

Oh I get along fine with people here on a casual basis but sometimes I need to be more fully understood. To not feel like an alien in disguise. As much as I have affection for members of my community, (and they for me) there's just something missing, sort of a common bond.

That's where the internet comes in.

The internet is composed of links. Links are (according to dictionary.com):

noun:   Anything, whether material or not, which binds together, or connects, separate things; a part of a connected series; a tie; a bond.

and to link is:

verb:   To be connected.

When I first went online in 1995 noone that I knew in person was there. I was as usual the oddball. Some of my friends are online now but more often it's their children who are the main users. At least it's not freaky to have an email address anymore.

I've done chat rooms, newsgroups, email, online gaming, and most recently began journalling, which is by far the most creative and satisfying online experience I've known.

These are two examples of journals that I'm now "connected" to:

Reality Asylum by Rien of the Netherlands.
Intelligent, articulate, and compassionate. A wonderful combination.

I'd Rather Eat Glass by Sasha of Los Angeles.
Sasha and I have almost nothing in common on the surface.. our lives have followed very different paths.. yet certain passages that she's written could easily have been written by me. Almost scary..

Of course I remain obsessed with my hit tracker, but one thing about my referrals surprises me.. I get more hits than I would ever have expected from the diary registry's listing of journallers by age group ("demographics") I guess I'm not the only one looking for connections.

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