Saturday, September 15, 2007

Do This

Do this. Do this thing. This blog thing. This life thing. This candid, honesty exposure thing. Do this writing thing where you shout at the invisible world all of your thoughts and opinions, at the risk of going completely unnoticed. Do this.

Set down black letters on white screen. Rattle thoughts incongruent w/ head. Argue self-appointed foes and sell the battles for public display. Sell this. Set this down. Rattle this. Argue this. Do this.

This is what I do. At the risk of going unnoticed. At the fear of being heard. Right here, right now, I do this...w/ great drama.
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There's always this layer I'm trying to shed when I sit down to pick this thing up again. What to say, what not to say, how much to expose, how to treat this immense stage. I want to believe it's vast enough to absorb my crudest contributions w/out causing harm, but I do not trust that my words would not be taken out of context or manipulated...if they were even heard. How much responsibility do we owe the world to edit our thoughts, emotions and inner turmoils? How thorough do our disclaimers need to be in order to stay true to personal experience? This is what therapists are for right? So no one else has to listen to this crap.

I tell my stories and thoughts as a challenge to myself. To see if I can stay real in the face of disappointment or disapproval. To see if I can have my voice and not need to destroy another to maintain it. I am in awe of what the internet offers for both personal and public growth. My contribution is almost solely self-centered. This is my sounding board. My tool for reflection. My witness to things in my life that I do not always share or know how to put in the open. This is my disclaimer for the expressions in this blog. This is my life, not yours. Don't take this one personally. If you don't like what it says, well then, don't read the damn thing.

Welcome back to my blog...I'll be attempting to keep it up w/ my life for the next year, to see what sorts of trouble I can find myself in. Grandma, sorry about the cussing.

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