"You’re going to now need two of everything," a friend said to me recently. "You need the public you and the you only your close friends and family get. Two different screen names, email addresses, and telephone numbers." Yeah, how about two different blogs? There comes a point where you want to be small but can’t. Small isn’t the right word. There comes a point where you want public privacy.
A private online chat of two, where there is the perception of intimacy. It’s why we email. Blogging when you begin is like emailing yourself, knowing there’s the possibility you might forward something to a friend from time to time. I know other bloggers who have regretted sharing their URL with too many people because now they feel limited. "I can’t write about that because what if she reads it." I know that feeling, yet I don’t. Yet I do. I’ve thought of starting a new blog, one just for me, the way this one used to be, but now there are so many people listening. I wanted small to allow for my rambling on about the movies I want to see, shit I want to eat for dinner, what I weigh. How I felt during sex. All the boring TMI no one wants to read. And believe me, if you think most of my posts do that anyway, you haven’t seen the half of it.
Without some knucklehead criticizing me for beginning my sentence fragments with "I." I’d still make it public though, to share with someone who might have lost their way in a click trail who might want to connect with another stranger. I’d write fearlessly because no one would give a shit who I was or what I did for a living. It would just be me out there, some random unknown, without the judgment. Without having to hear all the same boring things back. "Well, you put yourself out there. You open yourself to it. It’s part of the gig." Yes, I know. And I would not change any of that. The blessing of it is though, I can start a new blog, where I can write those boring things that don’t entertain. 5 posts in a row about my dog or how much I miss camp, the friends that have gone, the anxiety I feel.
How last night, I heaved, crying in the bathroom, into a towel, in the dark because I opened a part of myself I didn’t want to. I expressed my greatest fears aloud, and even thinking about that now, the ache comes back, center point. But why’d all the way back to three years old, where I felt the profound pain again. The rejection. So now, if I want to ramble, why would I do it there, on an unknown blog, and not here? It would have to be fear. That’s the only real reason I’d do that. I’d be afraid of driving the people who do come here away by writing about those things… and that is EXACTLY what I didn’t have when I began this blog… any type of fear about losing people, offending people, giving haters something to throw shit at.