Blog Sucker

You know what?

Sometimes, blogging sucks. Not all the time, but times like these, when there is much on my mind but some of the stuff should not be shared because this is not an anonymous blog. Things that will reveal too much about me, make me seem different than how I really am. But if these are things I think about, and want to do, and am intimidated by, then this is really how I am, right? But there are people out there who know the non-blogger me and then there are people out there who know only the blogger me. When a little bit of both of thoses MEs come together, it gets confusing. Like, there are parts of my life that will show insecurities, vanities, flaws, ... I don't know. Things that I don't want to share because of how I will then be perceived, the non-blogger me and the blogger me.

So, get it? No, me neither really. Like I wonder how many readers out there do know me as the non-blogger me but have discovered my blog and also know the blogger me but they don't let me know they know the blogger me, like they are spies, reading my personal diary, and then they know more about me than even I know about myself.

And no, I am not drinking right now.

So, anyway, that is how I'm feeling right now, about how a blog can expose you but also how a blog can keep you trapped in a way that you are unable to be as revealing as you may want to. I wish if there were people out there who know the non-blogger me who have discovered the blogger me, I wish they could just say, "Oh, I see you've got a blog." Then it would be all out in the open, not just some little secret thing. I mean, I know I have a blog, I write a lot on here. If they know I have a blog, it's OK to tell me they know and it's OK that they are reading it, because I've put it out there for anyone to read. But, I would just like to know if you see me in my non-blogging world, that you are reading this. Sometimes the worlds reflect one another and I'm not sure if I've told someone something in person, or if perhaps they've read it on the blog. Which is a bad thing because it stops real-live communication, and I don't want that to happen.

So, that's that.

Other news: I am really working on the second novel. I think it's coming together like the pieces of a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle because it's taken a while. Scenes will appear in my head, when I visit a place, or think of something that happened in the past, and I'm like, "OK that scene has emerged, now to get it onto something concrete so it can live."

Let's see if I can describe what I am writing. Hmmm... I suck at that part. It's about the old me, but fictionalized, in an old fictionalized relationship, and the character is not me, just parts of me, or parts of what I imagine a character like the old me would have behaved in a particular relationship.

Then, when that relationship goes to shit, which, of course, it has to, because it's fiction and in order to write fiction, there had to be friction. Ha, I'm laughing--Friction Fiction. That could be a new genre. Anyway, when the intense relationship goes to shit, she, the non-me, but if it were me, it could have been me, ... she plummets herself into the safest relationship she can find and becomes submerged to a point where she wonders if the shitty relationship was actually the best relationship in the end.

Does that make any sense? Does any of this make any sense? Probably not, but it's out of my head now, and that's all I can do. Spill it out, until it finds somewhere else to live.

Peace UP!