Weather Vane
Now that half my world is in the know about this site, I decided to revamp it (i.e. remove all embarrassing material). I also completely deleted blog #2. So now I am down to my newly boring main blog (have I any right to call it a soap opera now that all soap opera qualities are gone? Prepare for a new header.) and my novel blog. Two blogs is enough for now, though I may some day restart the secret blog thing far, far away from Blogger.
Sometimes heartache is the better fodder for writing material. Others it just means you might have to keep thinking about the pain, and it is just best to leave it alone. And at completely separate times you just want to wait out the source of the pain until it ends happily so you can bring yourself to write about it. It is the last that fits me most accurately. I have written about last weekend, but I didn't post it anywhere -not in any of my three blogs. I just decided to leave it to myself for a while. Sometimes I get the feeling that people read my words and shake their heads at me, wishing me some sense. I don't like that feeling. Writing a personal blog means opening yourself up to the world and inviting criticism, though such criticism may never be revealed to the writer. My life has never been like this before, and I have never met anyone with similar experiences, but I don't want advice and I don't want criticism, so I avoid it. I turned off the comments, and I stopped being quite so open. I don't like that, because that isn't what I wanted from these blogs, but I suppose when events turn as mine did, it is only natural that others will feel as they have. I shouldn't care. It is stupid to care what 5 strangers think of me, but maybe it isn't their thoughts that bother me so much as the people I know that read my blog.
It’s amazing how much easier it used to be to come up with material for the blog, but now with all the changes in my life, things have slowed to a grinding halt. I’m not even mentioning the crazy stuff of the summer. What a summer it was – the strangest of my life. Some day all the posts of yesterday will reappear out of the blue, so some archive digger will be greeted with a few surprises, but for now, I am burying the wackiness and moving on. The things that happened I will never forget, but I don’t want/need them to be out there anymore. I still have pain in my life and struggles, but I am not so willing to splash them across the Internet, for too many people in my life have access to these words.
X thinks I should be more like dooce. He says I am too restrictive and unreal, though he was unable to describe in what ways. But, hey, if Sam wants real, there it is.
I don’t have a life like dooce, or maybe I don’t have the talent/mind/poop of dooce. Whatever the case may be, I do have an up and down life, an eventful life and an uneventful life. I could make humorous so and so about what I did last night – I was all alone, played the piano, got on the computer, and watched tv – but I don’t see anything interesting in it that I want to talk about, though perhaps the doocester in all her splendiferousness could.
At first my goal was to garner as many readers as possible, then it was just to write about the crazy events of my weird life, but now I just don’t care. I just want to write about whatever strikes my fancy. If it doesn’t interest you, go away. I already lost most of my readers when I stopped talking about the other stuff anyway. I feel like I am in a holding tank right now. I am a little uncertain about which direction to turn. Once I figure that out, all will be well. For now, most of my efforts will go into Hoodwink. Perhaps my life will soon normalize such that I feel I can again discuss it for real, but for now, here is this really weird post as my offering.
Sometimes heartache is the better fodder for writing material. Others it just means you might have to keep thinking about the pain, and it is just best to leave it alone. And at completely separate times you just want to wait out the source of the pain until it ends happily so you can bring yourself to write about it. It is the last that fits me most accurately. I have written about last weekend, but I didn't post it anywhere -not in any of my three blogs. I just decided to leave it to myself for a while. Sometimes I get the feeling that people read my words and shake their heads at me, wishing me some sense. I don't like that feeling. Writing a personal blog means opening yourself up to the world and inviting criticism, though such criticism may never be revealed to the writer. My life has never been like this before, and I have never met anyone with similar experiences, but I don't want advice and I don't want criticism, so I avoid it. I turned off the comments, and I stopped being quite so open. I don't like that, because that isn't what I wanted from these blogs, but I suppose when events turn as mine did, it is only natural that others will feel as they have. I shouldn't care. It is stupid to care what 5 strangers think of me, but maybe it isn't their thoughts that bother me so much as the people I know that read my blog.
It’s amazing how much easier it used to be to come up with material for the blog, but now with all the changes in my life, things have slowed to a grinding halt. I’m not even mentioning the crazy stuff of the summer. What a summer it was – the strangest of my life. Some day all the posts of yesterday will reappear out of the blue, so some archive digger will be greeted with a few surprises, but for now, I am burying the wackiness and moving on. The things that happened I will never forget, but I don’t want/need them to be out there anymore. I still have pain in my life and struggles, but I am not so willing to splash them across the Internet, for too many people in my life have access to these words.
X thinks I should be more like dooce. He says I am too restrictive and unreal, though he was unable to describe in what ways. But, hey, if Sam wants real, there it is.
I don’t have a life like dooce, or maybe I don’t have the talent/mind/poop of dooce. Whatever the case may be, I do have an up and down life, an eventful life and an uneventful life. I could make humorous so and so about what I did last night – I was all alone, played the piano, got on the computer, and watched tv – but I don’t see anything interesting in it that I want to talk about, though perhaps the doocester in all her splendiferousness could.
At first my goal was to garner as many readers as possible, then it was just to write about the crazy events of my weird life, but now I just don’t care. I just want to write about whatever strikes my fancy. If it doesn’t interest you, go away. I already lost most of my readers when I stopped talking about the other stuff anyway. I feel like I am in a holding tank right now. I am a little uncertain about which direction to turn. Once I figure that out, all will be well. For now, most of my efforts will go into Hoodwink. Perhaps my life will soon normalize such that I feel I can again discuss it for real, but for now, here is this really weird post as my offering.
posted by The Narcissist at 1:51 PM
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