I don't blog much. That's because I don't think I have much to say. And if I do think of something, I have to have essay style and A+ grade quality before I'm willing to hit that frightening, orange "publish" button. As such, I don't blog much, I have few readers (fewer who aren't related to me), and conversations don't really happen in the comments section.
But I love people and I love talking with them. I love sharing myself (no, really), just not in loud, crowded rooms where everyone wants to say ten things and I figure I'll let them have their piece and if we get to me we do and if not, well then, oh well.
But...this here blog is my piece. And I can say what I want on it. People may or may not want to read it (I'd really rather write things that offer at least mild interest), but if they do then we might get to talking about something. And that would be great!
I recently posted some (far from all) of my thoughts on The Hunger Games, and I was pushing back terror of what people might think or say of me or to me. I hate being told I'm wrong. Hate it. Surely you can relate? And, somehow I have this emotional struggle when someone tells me, not that I'm wrong, but that there's more to it and I haven't covered the subject wholly (A+ exhaustive essay, right?), I think that somehow reflects on my value and on how well others think about me.
Oops. Why do emotions like to pendulum swing when thoughts stay fairly steady?
I guess I haven't figured out how to use this medium yet. I've tried one approach after another...then I get distracted from what I wanted to do with the blog.
But maybe I don't exactly have to do anything with it. I'd like it to be like a journal...but then I always had a hard time expressing my real thoughts and emotions to my own, locked up, hidden journal, too. I'd like it to be like sitting down with a friend or two and chatting over a tasty drink or box of cookies.
I want to be genuine, and I think I am...but I wonder how much I come across as fake?
Well, today I don't have any answers, just a squishy pile of dismissal contained within my body. Maybe someday I'll get it; maybe someday I won't be afraid; maybe someday I'll have confidence in my voice--in large, public (though potentially obscure) formats.
A girl can dream. Better yet, a girl can look forward to a brighter future.
Here's to that!