My friend wrote this. I thought it was such a funny story, I had to post it.
Once upon a time, God got an itch to create himself some little planet. Yeah. And on the planet he put all the wittle animals, some shrubbery, and Adam. Oh, and then he turned on the light. And then he rested. Yeah. And Adam was lonely so he ripped out a rib and created a woman. Yeah. And then God made sure that Adam and Eve were stupid and wouldn’t question anything. Yeah. So then, there was a snake, a talking snake, that persuaded Eve to eat an apple. Yeah. And then, well, then everything went to hell (woman’s fault, you know). And then, God wrote the bible and told everyone that this was the Bible and that it was the word of God and that you had to obey it all. Yeah, even the parts where you stone your own children to death if they profess non belief. — CW, 2008
My choosing to publish this story represents a perfect microcosm of a little problem I have been dealing with lately. As cliche’ as it sounds, on some level my blog is my own personal therapy session. I come here and spout and think and muse and make shit up no one cares about. Part of the deal for me is that I have to be brutally honest. But also, no censoring. And lately, I have wanted to censor. I have been worrying way too much about who might read this and their reaction. As a result, I have not been the happiest little camper lately. Part of it, I’m sure, is that I’ve not been sleeping well. Not sleeping makes me turn into a rather cranky little monster, if you know what I mean. Lack of sleep will do that to a person.
But another part of my angst has been wanting to write stuff and then not doing it because of my perceived expectation of a reaction or concern over what others will think of me. I even went so far as to delete the post I wrote on toxic work places because I was worried someone at the old workplace would read it. I also worried about what I wrote yesterday about wanting a boyfriend, all concerned the man I’m going on a date with might read it, realize I’m bananas, and run screaming for the hills. I worried a parent in Milla’s class might discover what a foul-mouthed hooligan I can be. Then there were a few days where all I wanted to write was a bunch of negativity because I was mired in a sleep-deprived, hormonally-induced, mini depressional psychosis and I didn’t want people to think I’m that much of a mental health disaster. For over a week now I have not written much at all because of concern over someone reading what I had to say.
Then last night I was reading and taking a nice bath to relax before bed in the hope I would fall asleep when I realized what I have been doing. I realized I was censoring myself and I had to ask, what in the world is going on here? I am not writing for the audience, I am writing for me, regardless how stupid, opinionated, depressed, or ridiculous I may be. I want to have an audience, that’s why I put it out there. But I can’t write with the audience in mind. So I had this little epiphany and resolved to go back to being my usual blabber-mouthed, opinionated, cussing sometimes self, regardless if I was having a good day and regardless what anyone else might think or say.
Then this morning I received the story my friend wrote and wanted to post it because I think it is hilarious. I cut and pasted it and put it into my wordpress window, then when it came time to tag it and categorize it, I started to worry about offending someone or the neo-nazi religious types that might read it and send me hate mail and I got a little flutter and almost didn’t put anything in the tags and only a couple of categories to ensure no one would read it. Then the lightbulb went on and I realized I was doing it again, censoring, worrying about the reaction, and I knew then that I had to post it and add all the tags and categories I would have if I knew no one was reading it. I had to put it out there, regardless of the reaction. Because ironically enough, I honestly don’t care whether someone likes it or not. I’m just too tired right now to deal with the possible reaction. And that is the crux of it, I suppose. I have been feeling so lousy from lack of sleep that I do not have my usual strength and resolve to put up with someone else not liking what I have to say. I’ve regressed back to the person in my teens and early twenties who had zero confidence in her writing or her self. I suppose it is normal to make these regressions when I’m overly tired, but it doesn’t mean I have to stay there.
So I’ve put on the story and I put back the toxic workplace post and I’m leaving the relationship post and if there is anyone reading it who doesn’t like it, well, I guess that’s too bad. Go read something else. I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m not trying to make other people hate my ex boss. I’m not trying to troll the blogs hoping some Prince Charming will read my relationship posts and come sweep me off my feet. I’m writing because I have to and it keeps me sane. It is part of my spirituality. I know that’s a useless psychobabble reason, but it’s true, and that’s all there is to it.