writing for myself

i've never been good a journaling. i kept diaries as a kid, but i always got bored of them. when i started writing again, i figured out why.

i'm a great big attention whore.

i like to write for an audience. i like to write as if someone might read it someday. if you know me, you know i like to talk. i can talk for hours, for days, and never run out of stuff to say. now i can write like that too. it's not always interesting, and in fact, it's probably usually not at all interesting, but i like to put it out there, whatever it is.

i don't have any illusions that i have a ton of people reading this blog. and most of my readers used to be my knitter friends, and since i'm not talking about knitting much, i doubt they're interested anymore. i don't really care, because it's out there. it's public for anyone who wants to read it, for anyone who knows me, or anyone who doesn't.

i don't put personal crap up here. i mean, i have my kids names, my husband's name, my name's probably down there somewhere. people know where i live, more or less (hey, come stalk me in Hong Kong!) but i don't put the really deep shit on here, the stuff that matters. the stuff that hurts.

but apparently i still need to write the stuff that hurts, even if i don't share it. i was tempted to share it, but then i read it over and i started bawling, so no, not going to post that.

things are mostly good. things are often great.

things aren't always great. and that's okay. that's life.

i'd rather write for you guys (all two of you). writing for myself doesn't work as well, because if i can't share it, i still feel like it's all in me. it's on paper (well, computer screen, but same diff.) but it's still only mine.

maybe someday i'll blog about the hard stuff. and then nobody will want to read it. huh.