It occurred to me that in a way, I'm in league with Flavor Flav. Okay, the similarities are kind of limited and are based only on a frequently used phrase from the rapper's reality dating show. But like Flav, I'm thinking a lot about 'being real,' at least on this blog.
(Background: When I do watch TV here in Europe, it's sometimes more relaxing to watch in English. And sometimes the only thing in English besides CNN is an MTV or VH-1 reality show. Consequently, I have seen lots of Flavor of Love. Can't say I'm the better for it, but it is a distraction. You know what time it is.)
It's been harder to post on Bitter/Sweet and Salty than I expected. Time constraints do prevail, but that was predictable. Stranger is how frozen, how utterly self-conscious I sometimes feel.
I had pictured this as a possible forum for fun tales, but also for stark honesty, even about thorny personal affairs. It's not in pursuit of sensationalism, but because I have so appreciated honesty about even extremely difficult topics in other people's writing. Some books by spouses of people with brain injuries, for example, and their grim but enlightening, candid stories, have helped me a lot.
But my blogging fingers start their capers over this keyboard and then HALT. Delete. Caper. Repeat.
My anecdotes and ruminations on caregiving, or the brain and spinal injuries and side effects that led to the caregiving... they're not just about me, naturally, but about O. Is it fair to write this? Sometimes I think not, even if feel a "need" and if I think it would ultmately do good not just for me, but (hopefully) for others.
To write what's really on my mind - right now, that's my cancer-diagnosed best friend's worsening situation - might violate the privacy of her and her family even if most of you don't know her, might it not? Anyway, who (besides me) wants to read about sadness and other un-fun emotions (sometimes also known as whining).
And that first date I had in autumn...which has been followed by many more; well, that story's not just about me, either. I fear getting too personal in the blog, especially about someone else. Whereas work and co-workers, obviously, are something that's better not to blog about.
I don't want to hurt, offend, invite vitriol (by blogging politics!?) in any way. I've been pretty relaxed about revealing the depths of my uncoolness. But I do shrink a little at possibly revealing myself to be a real idiot to my brainy, suave, intellectual readers. Parenting blogs can be fun and satisfying, but are done so much. You readers deserve to be entertained richly and novelly.
How real should I get? How to produce that intellectual yet down-to-earth, amusing, candid yet none-too-personal, uplifting post for the readership? How to unblock the self-conscious blogger within?
When deer freeze in view of headlights, what is the outcome?