I been thinkin'

I'm like way into this blog thing. Some of the people I know read my blog, and comment on it, or let me know they read it by asking "How is Special Guy?" When they do, I'm always sort of taken aback. It's like catching someone reading your journal. And yet, after the 'taken aback' fades, I'm sort of titillated. (Chances are I misspelled that word.) A friend of mine once sort of proclaimed Yoda-like: "Never tell people your dreams. It gives them insights into you that you yourself don't share." So maybe it's the power imbalance that I find exciting. Cagey as I am, I wonder if readers have a take on me, some glimmer of the answer to my karmic riddle.

But I continue to write. Regardless. Or because of.

And heeeeere's a wee bit of irony. Last October 1st was Liberation Day for me. I left my ex. Doing so, I packed only all of my stuff that I could fit in the car. One of the things that I left 'for later' was my desk, and the contents thereof. My ex found and read my journal. I was pretty stunned. "I wouldn't have done that to you!" (His response was that I left it there on purpose, because consciously or subconsciously I wanted him to read it." Months later, he packed up all the stuff I'd left behind (which wasn't a lot) and movers brought it to me at my new home in Jersey City. Sorting through it, I found that he had mistakenly included a box from the basement that held all of his old journals. All of them. From before he knew me, right up through the time when we were first living together. (I don't know for how long he continued to maintain a journal, so I don't know how far forward they go.) Anyway, after the day when I opened the box, wondered 'Hmm... what's this?", and opened one up and figured out what it was, I have not read a single word. During our short-lived attempt at counseling, I told him that in fact I had his journals and I hadn't read them. He was sort of flabbergasted. Well, he interrupted raging at me to be flabbergasted for a moment, then went back to raging at me. So he knows. But he hasn't asked for them back. And I'd be happy to mail them or even drop them off. But I still haven't read them.

And a second helping of irony. When I was a senior in high school, my step mother (my dad was widowed twice and remarried twice, she's still with us) found and read my journal. It was not pretty. At that time, things were verrrrry bad between me and my stepmother (better now), and I spilled a lot of ink slamming her. And there I was defending myself. Since that time, I continued to journal (done that my whole life), but I would do so in code. To the point that if I look at journals from my early twenties, I have no blessed idea what the hell I'm talking about. What does 'visit the museum' refer to? Who the hell is 'Heathcliffe' and what did he say to me when he was drunk? It's maddening. Over time, I overcame that. I allowed myself to be honest and forthright in my journal. And my ex read it.

And with all that experience under my belt, here I am typing away and clicking the 'Post & Publish" button for broadcast over the World Wide Web. How bout dat.