Saturday, June 26, 2004
Still holding my breath
Almost no day goes by without me thinking up some sort of entry I want to write for this blog. Not because I'm overly concerned with supplying this thing with content, and not because I feel obligated to do write. To me, writing is something cathartic and a chance to spew out what's on my mind without having to put up with a zillion questions or judgment calls. So now I have the time to write, and I have plenty to write about, but I don't, and it irks me.
Over the past few days I've wanted to write about me playing the role of a marriage counselor for a night. I wanted to describe my first meeting at alcoholics anonymous (no folks, I don't have a drinking problem and no one else in my family does. I would have explained why I was there, but...). I want to vent intensely about what makes me fume & what makes me melt. And I want to blah, blah, and blah some more about more random stuff.
But I haven't written about any of that, and I don't know if I will at this point anymore. The arrow of time is moving forward, and so what's the point of dwelling on the past? That last sentence might have just been one of the most hypocritical things I've ever written. The bottom line is that I feel like I'm stifling myself. I have issues. I want to just rant and rant about my self and my problems, and heck it's my blog, so why not? But at the same time, I don't want to give away all sorts of private details about my life, or my problems. Who knows who could come across this, and who knows how much I could regret it later on.
So I'm in a bind. Write honestly and blatantly and achieve the kind of catharsis I really want at the risk of making myself vulnerable or at least seem like an arse. Or, hold my breath, keep all the nitty gritty to myself, but remain very cozily in my comfort zone. I'm pretty sure the answer lies somewhere in the gray, but it's so complicated.
Over the past few days I've wanted to write about me playing the role of a marriage counselor for a night. I wanted to describe my first meeting at alcoholics anonymous (no folks, I don't have a drinking problem and no one else in my family does. I would have explained why I was there, but...). I want to vent intensely about what makes me fume & what makes me melt. And I want to blah, blah, and blah some more about more random stuff.
But I haven't written about any of that, and I don't know if I will at this point anymore. The arrow of time is moving forward, and so what's the point of dwelling on the past? That last sentence might have just been one of the most hypocritical things I've ever written. The bottom line is that I feel like I'm stifling myself. I have issues. I want to just rant and rant about my self and my problems, and heck it's my blog, so why not? But at the same time, I don't want to give away all sorts of private details about my life, or my problems. Who knows who could come across this, and who knows how much I could regret it later on.
So I'm in a bind. Write honestly and blatantly and achieve the kind of catharsis I really want at the risk of making myself vulnerable or at least seem like an arse. Or, hold my breath, keep all the nitty gritty to myself, but remain very cozily in my comfort zone. I'm pretty sure the answer lies somewhere in the gray, but it's so complicated.
