Earlier today, one of my LSB’s (“Li’l Sister Bloggers”) had a thread going in the Comments after one of her posts. It was an afterthought about one of the hazards of blogging.
Someone brought up the pitfalls arising when you find yourself writing something in a post about a person in your life, and then you worry that person might see it.
If it’s that overwhelmingly impelling that you really need to say it in a blog, for God’s sake, then it likely would be more productive to say it directly to that given person.
(and in my mind, that’s in bold-faced underlined italics, Impact font, 72 points. And red. CAPITALIZED) …
sometimes you just blurt it out anyway, to whomever is within earshot.
Or has an internet connection.
Hell, you’re thinking it and feeling it and it’s tearing your insides into a swirling mass of extremely gross confetti. You’ve got to get it out in the open before spiritual sepsis sets in, and if it means sharing it with a few total strangers, some twelve-year-old autistic savant without any thumbs somewhere in a Siberian hovel, TMZ, the NSA or the World Wide Web, so be it.
You need to take care of yourself no matter what.
You need to say it.
You say it anyway because you realize that actually relating it to whatever out-of-touch, uncaring, dead-from-the-neck-up, empathetically deaf, sympathetically dumb, compassionately comatose, intellectually impacted shit-for-brains needs to hear it the most –
would be a colossal waste of time, words, breath, effort, honesty and vulnerability.
When you get the feeling you’re doing nothing but pissing into the wind, the last thing you need to do is step into the funnel cloud.
Thanks for listening.
Now… where’s my Effexor?
I’ve already doubled up on the Klonopin.
I’ve got Neil Young at 12 on a volume control that only goes to 10.