There are some people I used to regularly B.S with in an isolated, inbred corner of the internet hostile to outsiders before I was pulled away by the wide-open world of intelligent discussion that is blogging. I decided to notify them that I had a site of my own now where no one could tell me I was packing too many links into a post. Here was a response:

You know, it always makes me sad when I see the people who say they’re going to leave end up coming back to this morbid cesspool of despair and madness. My advice to those whose consciences and last vestiges of sanity are compelling them to turn their attention to less sordid pastimes is: don’t announce that you’re leaving – just go. Just say “Fuck it” and disengage, and go off and try to do whatever it is you think will improve your crappy waste of a life. People aren’t going to look down on you for leaving without a trace, they’re going to assume that you’ve actually found something meaningful to do with your time and look at you as a shining example to the dirty, downtrodden, anti-social masses of the Internet. And when you finally come crawling back, bloodied and battered from your failed attempts to integrate into a world not comprised of anonymous handles and inane avatars, you’ll be looked at, at the very least, as a brave explorer of regions dangerous and unknown, who has returned to tell the wondrous tales of his adventures into lands untamed and nigh-unimaginable, rather than “that guy who swore he was going to go and do something not dorky, and failed.” Don’t set yourself up for failure and humiliation – just do what you’re going to do, don’t think you owe a damn thing to anyone, and just consider: if you leave here tomorrow, how many people will really remember you anyway? Fly free, bitches – fly free.

That’s the stuff nostalgia is made of.

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