My dad reads this blog most mornings at breakfast, on his ipad. My sister drops in periodically and checks it out. My mom still hasn’t looked at it, because she can’t look at it at work and can’t stand the sight of a computer by the time she gets home.
When I was little I never showed my mom my stories, because I knew she’d critique them honestly and I was afraid of such scathing criticism as I was sure would come. It backfired, because by the time I was mature enough to take criticism, she had already been somewhat offended – or perhaps a better word would be miffed – by my reticence. Now she’ll only look at something I write if I literally hand it to her while she’s not busy. It’s a little sad, but I suppose it’s what I get.
I’ve only shown this blog to my immediate family and to Belle. I don’t know when or how much Belle reads, but I know she does sometimes. I’m a little hesitant to show it to anyone else. I want to, because I like sharing of myself with the people who matter to me, but at the same time I’d have to watch myself so much more. I want to write truthfully about what happens around me and how I feel about it, and I’m not sure I can if the people I’m writing about will be reading this.
Perhaps even more worrying is the number of strangers who are visiting my blog. Sorry. I admit I regard the whole thing rather warily, and I think this might be because of just how much of myself I’m exposing in some of these posts. Not that I’m endangering myself – I am fully reconciled with all that I’ve written of myself, and I think you’d have to be Hannibal Lecter to get a rise out of me based on any of it. Still, loner that I am, I regard all forms of attention as suspicious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, especially by the likes and the follows. Thanks for that. It may just take me a while to get used to it.