Mom's never read my blog. Not that I'd mind her reading it- I don't say that much about her here, and our relationship is very close. But we were talking about family, and relationships, and my dad, and my recent visit to see him. Which I had been considering blogging about here. But as I said to Mom tonight, " I wouldn't want him to read the stuff that I was going to write here. And if I don't want him to read it, then I shouldn't be writing it here."
I consider blogging to be a form of performance art. There is, in its public-ness, a "look at me" strut, an online airing of things that are maybe better left in the dark. It's a fine line. I want to be honest, to make this thing more than a banal listing of the Momentous Events of My Day. Jesus, if you want that, read my Twitter/Facebook blather:
- Going out to see a play!
- Making dinner right now- yum!
- Listening to music!
And I get a thrill that you (whoever you are) read this, that friends and strangers (not many, but some) find these words in the vastness of the internet and spend some time with them, with me. I have no intention of making this blog private.
But today's conversation was a good wake-up call. I have not (yet) violated anyone's sense of privacy here. That I know of. I admit that I read blogs like this one and tune in eagerly for more. Blogs like that disclose so much. That's her choice. But it's not mine.
I will be honest here, but not at the expense of other people. I was lucky to wake up to this before someone got their feelings hurt.
J just asked me what I was blogging about. And so I told him, about the conversation with Mom, and the not writing really private stuff about people other than me and he was like, Duh. Because he's always found this blogging thing kind of weird. And because he knows that sometimes, it's all about him right here. Love ya, Babe.