getting there

So, not too surprisingly, this is the world's least entertaining, most boring blog. It's not an accident, and anyone who knows me would tell you my personality, the way I am in real life, is far from boring. I don't mean I'm the most fantastic person you could meet (although many drunks have told me so, some without even slurring or drooling that much.) No instead my personality leans toward the annoyingly melodramtic.

So why is my blog different? Several reasons. I rant and rave in person to let off steam, so well...no steam brewing right now. Two, I actually write more coherently (and spell and punctuate better) when I'm calm. Any state of excitement or anxiety makes run on sentences paragraphs long that even I cannot later make sense of. Three, and here's the biggie, I'm kinda private actually.

That last line has sent all my friends, hell even my aquaintances, into gales of disbelieving laughter. But there's a big difference between what I will say (and how I carefully word it) in person, and what I'm willing to have recorded. Recorded. In court, someone types EVERYTHING down, you know, the court recorder. It's legal; it's binding.

Writing real things down doesn't allow me to convince you later you misunderstood me. Or, well I was being melodramatic. Or, I was hyperbolizing at the time, you know, to be funny. Or the always popular, Geez, I cannot believe you bought anything I said while drunk! Yes, my reality baring conversation was your foolishness, you silly, you!

In college, being that writing was my major concentration, I took amongst other things, poetry classes. I write the absolute most boring poetry. (this blog is a real page turner by comparison.) I wrote about, oh I don't know, the sky or picnic tables at parks before I'd write about the day I stared at the sky asking the great beyond why my Grandad died, or what it felt like to have a man older and smarter than me, an accountant, decided to make a move on me while sitting on the picnic table at our supposedly platonic picnic. The real things were to real, too accountable, to record where just any fool could read it, critique the poem, or *gasp* critique ME.

One of the reasons I'm a horrible blogger is I've never journaled in any way before. It's not in my innate nature, for the above reasons. Even in a private journal, I'D have to face it again, and that wreaks havoc on my preferred methods of denial. I'm gifted with a fantatastic memory, so I don't need a record for myself. And the things that fade out in my mind, fade for a darn good reason, thank you.

"Hey, girl, remember that time you got drunk and danced on the pool table half naked?" Hmm, I cannot possible recall what you mean.---Yes, that works nicely. As opposed to: Hey girl, remember that post where you recorded for all mankind and prosterity the time you got drunk and....well you see my point.

No, this isn't an excuse for my boring blog. It's partially an explanation, but more aptly it is both an appeal for patience, and a warning/introduction for what is to come.

Oddly, I am now very aware that I started this blog because I was inspired by the open bravery of a friend's blog. (www.barenada.com) I think I want to try this, a sort of open forum of exposure, meant to get some things off my chest, invite commentary, make some realities permanant to me, and yea, even get a bit o writing practice in.

If you've already given up, cool 'nough. Who'd blame you? I was aware, as I stated in my first post, that I may well be the only one who ever reads this, but facing these things myself is a good enough reason to write. But, I do now have an intention, to write more intimate thoughts, to record some inner worries, to admit some things to myself and the world.

And now that I've written the above--recorded that intent for all mankind--I've made step one. I'm getting there.