An entry like the ones I used to post.
Pretend that this is a locked post. Pretend it's readable to everyone *except* those I'm having dinner with. Because otherwise, I'll just be embarrassed.
Plans for dinner tonight with scarlettina, ironymaiden (and husband), scarletbronte, mimerki, and possibly others. No big shindig; it's just dinner. Lately, I've been really working on getting myself out on Friday and Saturday nights, doing more things. Tonight, Kuma (a local band that is really sexy and intense) is playing at The Old Firehouse in Ballard (show starts at 7, four bands, and we don't know when Kuma's onstage). L is keen on going...
I had to choose between going to see Kuma, with the girl that I've been very close to for many years (*cough*), or going to dinner with a pantheon of people that I find really interesting. (Which is not to say that I don't find L interesting. But we live together; we probably see too much of each other.) I chose... .
I'm going to dinner. L is going to Kuma, by herself.
*cheers*
Even a year ago, this would've been crippling. I would have been guilty beyong belief; she would have been hurt. Maybe she would have thought that I was hiding something. There would have been tears, and a lot of them mine.
Half a year ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about writing a post like this. Good heavens, I've told you a lot more than I tell those who are usually around me. (They'd stop listening, anyway. It tends to happen.) But lately I feel that I've become very selective about what I say. Good or bad, I don't know. What do you think? Is my LJ a minefield of TMI? You never really know what's going to be under that cut tag. "Anything can happen" is my subtitle for a reason.
The thing is, some of those who are reading are too close to home. RL meets LJ -- it's messy, and I often think that I shouldn't have done it. But the trade off... I don't want to give it up. Anyway, it's not possible to go backward, only forward. I've been told that I'm somewhat different than expected (ooh, passive voice to hide who said it!), not some fluttery butterfly girl. I get nervous about how I'm perceived. I dither about what is appropriate to wear, what impression I might be making.
So maybe some of that nervousness has overlapped into here, where I used to say whatever I pleased. Certainly, there are things that I can't talk about, not at all. Well, I wouldn't talk about any of you, that I don't ever physically see, either. But it does make me a little bit sad. Because there are more things, now, that I can only say to myself, only mull about in my paper journal. There are reasons why I can't share those things with my longtime best friend, or if I do, I can only tell her part. I can't tell you about the silly little things that make me disproportionately happy, or rant about the way someone has acted toward me. I can't ask you, "Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand?".
I don't always want to talk one-on-one; I don't always want direct feedback. Sometimes, I simply want to muse, "aloud", putting my thoughts and feelings and opinions out into the world. It's nice to have a listener without judgement. It's comforting to think that I can let someone know what is going on with me, without putting them in the position of *having* to have something to say about it. I know that not all of you read these long, introspective posts, and that's alright, it's not required.
But I would, and do, read yours. You should know that.
And I'm missing that. It seems to be a thing that's catching, this closed-ness; I caught it from others. Of many of you, all I have are these little bits of text. That's all I have of you. I want to know what's going on. I'm listening, so tell me. I don't need a bigger f-list; I don't need to go looking for others through the most tenuous connections. I talk to people all day, and many of them are smart and clever. So smart and clever that they talk without saying much. That's the way it is in everyday life, anyway. We wear so many layers that we rarely touch skin.
Plans for dinner tonight with scarlettina, ironymaiden (and husband), scarletbronte, mimerki, and possibly others. No big shindig; it's just dinner. Lately, I've been really working on getting myself out on Friday and Saturday nights, doing more things. Tonight, Kuma (a local band that is really sexy and intense) is playing at The Old Firehouse in Ballard (show starts at 7, four bands, and we don't know when Kuma's onstage). L is keen on going...
I had to choose between going to see Kuma, with the girl that I've been very close to for many years (*cough*), or going to dinner with a pantheon of people that I find really interesting. (Which is not to say that I don't find L interesting. But we live together; we probably see too much of each other.) I chose... .
I'm going to dinner. L is going to Kuma, by herself.
*cheers*
Even a year ago, this would've been crippling. I would have been guilty beyong belief; she would have been hurt. Maybe she would have thought that I was hiding something. There would have been tears, and a lot of them mine.
Half a year ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about writing a post like this. Good heavens, I've told you a lot more than I tell those who are usually around me. (They'd stop listening, anyway. It tends to happen.) But lately I feel that I've become very selective about what I say. Good or bad, I don't know. What do you think? Is my LJ a minefield of TMI? You never really know what's going to be under that cut tag. "Anything can happen" is my subtitle for a reason.
The thing is, some of those who are reading are too close to home. RL meets LJ -- it's messy, and I often think that I shouldn't have done it. But the trade off... I don't want to give it up. Anyway, it's not possible to go backward, only forward. I've been told that I'm somewhat different than expected (ooh, passive voice to hide who said it!), not some fluttery butterfly girl. I get nervous about how I'm perceived. I dither about what is appropriate to wear, what impression I might be making.
So maybe some of that nervousness has overlapped into here, where I used to say whatever I pleased. Certainly, there are things that I can't talk about, not at all. Well, I wouldn't talk about any of you, that I don't ever physically see, either. But it does make me a little bit sad. Because there are more things, now, that I can only say to myself, only mull about in my paper journal. There are reasons why I can't share those things with my longtime best friend, or if I do, I can only tell her part. I can't tell you about the silly little things that make me disproportionately happy, or rant about the way someone has acted toward me. I can't ask you, "Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand?".
I don't always want to talk one-on-one; I don't always want direct feedback. Sometimes, I simply want to muse, "aloud", putting my thoughts and feelings and opinions out into the world. It's nice to have a listener without judgement. It's comforting to think that I can let someone know what is going on with me, without putting them in the position of *having* to have something to say about it. I know that not all of you read these long, introspective posts, and that's alright, it's not required.
But I would, and do, read yours. You should know that.
And I'm missing that. It seems to be a thing that's catching, this closed-ness; I caught it from others. Of many of you, all I have are these little bits of text. That's all I have of you. I want to know what's going on. I'm listening, so tell me. I don't need a bigger f-list; I don't need to go looking for others through the most tenuous connections. I talk to people all day, and many of them are smart and clever. So smart and clever that they talk without saying much. That's the way it is in everyday life, anyway. We wear so many layers that we rarely touch skin.