Saturday, May 22, 2010

As I said a couple of posts back, I've always avoided giving personal details in this blog.  I go on and on and on about what I'm thinking and what the antecedents for that are in my bleary past, but I don't tell you about selling our house or the fight I had with my husband.  I like it that way.  If you know me, you can read between the lines and pick up what you want, and of course you can always e-mail me or call me if you want more sordid details.  but for the most part, I like this blog the way it is.  Private in a neurotically public sort of way.

But the other night I was feeling a little blue (I guess in light of the previous post I should specify this was a VERY little blue, not depression), and I was sitting and drinking a Sierra Nevada and reading the comments in one of the blogs I follow.  And I got all teared up over some of the things other posters had said about life and love, and GO FIGURE, I typed out a pretty long, pretty personal comment and HIT THE SUBMIT BUTTON. I was OK with this for about ten minutes, and then I sank my head into my hands and practically moaned.  I mean, in the grand scheme of things, this is so pathetically small a crisis that I can't believe I'm even typing about it.  No one cares.  I didn't attach my full name or e-mail address.  It's a blog with hundreds (maybe thousands?) of followers, with several dozen who post long, detailed comments about their lives on a regular basis,

But I don't.  I don't do that kind of thing.  I almost sent the webmaster a frantic e-mail asking if my comment could be deleted, but then I decided that would just draw more attention to it.  I think most people who follow that blog read it at work, so it is mainly busy during the day, and my comment was late at night.  By the next day, they were on to other topics, and I'm pretty sure for the most part my little moment sank like a rock in a pond.  phew.

But typing it and posting it, and knowing that at least a few people read it (because there were two replies), and thinking about how it would sound to someone who didn't know my situation, has made me think quite a bit about what's going on around here.  And that's a good thing.  Although I hate hate hate it, the thing that has kept me sane the last couple of years is stepping out of my comfort zone, sometimes way out of my comfort zone, and letting myself fall flat on my face.  There seems to be something enormously reviving about that for me.  Damn it.  I wish I could learn and grow in some sort of smooth, elegant, unembarrassing way.  But that doesn't seem to work for me.

prat falls welcome here, I guess

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