Here’s the thing … this blog is boring. It’s boring because I’ve been too scared to let it out of its closet. I write things, then I think “Oh shit, what if someone reads this … and knows it’s about ME? What if someone is hurt, or offended, or thinks I’m a loser?”
Well, stuff it. If you’re hurt or offended, get off the page. If you know I love you, you better know I know you’re not perfect, and I don’t care. And, furthermore, if you claim to love me, you better not care about my warts either. If you do, that’s your problem – you deal with it. And if you don’t know me but think, on reading, that you might like to, feel free to stick around. Say your piece. I’d like to hear what you think.
As for me … I don’t know why I feel the need to blog, but I have a gut-deep sense that THIS is the way back to serious writing, and THAT is the one real thing I need to do. I am 56 years old, for crying out loud … It’s time to quit procrastinating and start doing. No more spending hours of daylight in bed, hiding behind a book, watching the hours tick by, and wondering what the fuck happened to my life.
So. I took a breath and I posted a piece that’s been sitting in hiding for a couple weeks. I jumped.
I’ve hit the water. I’m down deep. I’m swimming.