I was an idiot. I read an entry on one of Susan’s diaries. And I gave my opinion. Thing is, like an idiot, I didn’t check out my assumptions before hand. Generally a bad idea, I know. But every now and then, I do something dumb. I found out I was wrong. Acknowledged it, and apologized.

Of course, I considered just deleting the comment. I thought about it for….all of thirty seconds, I think. I eventually realized that I was looking down a metophorical road that started in that direction, and I decided I didn’t like where that road led. So in the end, I decided that for me, deleting the comment was a bad idea.

You see, for me, it’s too easy to treat the handy “delete comment” feature as an “undo button.” I think everyone’s familiar with the “undo button,” right? I think we all wanted one when we were a kids. (Heck, I find myself wondering if you ever really stop wanting one when you’re an adult.) If you did something wrong, you’d press your magic “undo button,” and it would magically make it all right, as if what you did never happened. No guilt. No hard feelings. No lectures from Mom. No extra chores or days without television.

Even as an adult, I have to admit that I would love an “undo” button. I’d like to be able to undo the mistakes I’ve made at work and the problems I’ve created with coworkers so I didn’t have to spend time rebuilding a sense of teamwork and trust with them, for one example.

And to me, that’s what the delete option feels like. It’s a way for me to go, “I can delete that comment and make it as if I never left it.” In this case, I probably could’ve even done so. After all, Susan wasn’t online. She hadn’t seen it yet.

But the thing is, I did leave it. And I don’t feel right about pretending I didn’t. Even if no one else knows about it. I’d be deceiving everyone but myself. And I’d be trying to deceive myself in the process, on some level. And that thought bothers me a great deal.

The other thing is, it seems to me that an “undo button” — even one that just let’s you pretend you never did something stupid but doesn’t really “undo” it — would have the side effect of removing reminders of the lessons I learned from my mistakes. After all, how can I learn from a mistake I’m pretending never happened? How can I do so even if I just try to forget it ever happened?

To me, leaving that comment there is about character building the hard way. It serves as a reminder to me — and let’s everyone else know about it, which I think is good in some ways, too — that says, “Hey, remember what happened the last time you spoke without making sure your facts were straight? Maybe you ought to make sure you’re not doing that again.”

It’s painful, but then isn’t that the nature of character building?

Apparently, part of me wants to be nasty, caustic, and snide. Anything I see that I think is stupid, I just want to mock the person in some way. Two prime examples of this happened on a message board in a topic discussing witchcraft and magic.

First of all, a 14 year old Christian came in and made a pronouncement: “I rebuke the spirit of witchcraft and all other demonic things.” I rolled my eyes. Part of me wanted to make some smartass comment like, “Well, I rebuke the Spirit of Saint Louis. That wicked plane!” I figured I’d have to mention that the Spirit of Saint Louis was a plane because quite frankly, I get the impression that this kid wouldn’t have gotten the reference. And let’s face it, if you have to explain a smartass comment, it takes all the fun out of it. I suppose if I was more caustic, I could’ve taken more pleasure in the fact that the person I was mocking didn’t get my statements, but I guess I’m just not that advanced of an elitist bastard/intellectual snob.

The next person came in on the same thread. Her pronouncement? “I don’t believe witchcraft and magic is real.” To her, I simply wanted to do the online equivalent of giving her a patronizing pat on the head and saying, “That’s nice, now I trust you can find your way the to the exit on yourself.” I mean honestly, if you don’t believe in something, don’t enter into a conversation about it. Is this really that difficult of a concept to grasp? But then, I guess that such an action wouldn’t give them the opportunity to sound so smug.

But then, can I blame them for wanting to do that? I mean, aren’t I wanting to do the same thing with my own caustic rejoinders? So I surely don’t have the moral high ground from which to criticize. But screw the moral high ground, I say. At least here. This is my chance to express my annoyance.

I suppose that’s why I’m writing this here. It gives me a chance to give into a bit of base pettiness and give “silent voice” to my snide remarks in private while I maintain my poise in that conversation. Part of me finds this a bit two-faced, but another part of me finds this a right action. After all, I am only human. I’m bound to have my moments of weakness, where my less than stellar side rises to the need for expression. And is it not better to give it this more private voice where it at least somewhat contained?

I suppose some day, it would be nice to reach a point where such nonsense truly does not effect me. Then, even such a private expression of annoyance and invective would not be necessary. That would be ideal. But while I strive for that ideal, I think it best to give place to the less-than-ideal reality of my personality, and acknowledge it forthrightly. After all, this is better than repressing it until it builds and bursts out beyond my restraint.

I keep telling myself that I need to work on new diary descriptions and profiles for all of my online diaries. (Before anyone asks, I have seven scattered throughout cyberspace.) At most of those diaries, I’ve had the same user profile and diary description that I threw in there when I first created the diary. And I just feel it’s time for a change.

The thing is, I don’t know what to change them all too. I feel completely uncreative. I always struggle with what to say in my descriptions and profiles. To be honest, that’s partly because I consider myself a terribly boring person. I look at myself and I think “what can I say that anyone would find remotely interesting.” So it leaves me stymied.

I know. I should just do it anyway. I should just push through and come up with something. Because if I really put my mind to it, I’m sure I’d come up with something. But that’s a big mental block to break.

On the positive side, at least each of the seven diary descriptions and/or profiles I’ve done are unique to that particular diary. So I have that much to say for myself.