Have you ever noticed how hard it is to blog when there is actually stuff going on in your life?
I mean, I find it easier to come home from work on a standard Tuesday, in which nothing out of the ordinary happened, and blog about how I'm not totally sure that I LOVE my new flip flops and isn't Thai food just the best? than I do when I have real things to talk about. Then, I'm either too busy, or constrained by the idea that 10,000 people are reading this.
I was reading a friend of mine's blog the other day and while I don't know if "introspective" is the word I would use to describe it, it is certainly more raw than what I have going on here. Which is fine. Because every blog has its own M.O. and that's as it should be. But do you ever wish you had a secret blog in which you could write all your horrible true thoughts? Or is that just what post secret is for?
I've never been sorry that my authorship is transparent. Although I admire the blogs that feature a list of pseudonyms for reoccurring characters, I could never keep track of one myself. And I feel I've been fair, for the most part, to my family and friends in being careful to never tell anyone's stories but my own, even if I do use their real names.
But just once, it would be nice to write coherently about what is actually going on with me. I find it odd to go back through a years worth of posting and think, well, that was about the time that ___________ happened, and find no evidence of it here.
Lately, I've been wondering if this is the resurgence of my actually wanting to write again, but then I have dreams in which someone is dying because of something I wrote--literally, I dreamed that a man was plucked off the street and crushed by a backhoe-type machine and it was all because of something I was writing a la Stranger than Fiction, or something. Or maybe I just have an overinflated sense of importance.