The Act of Blogging

I write to be sane. I write to work things out in my head. I write so I do not need to spend the time going to a therapist every week. And I have to admit, the entries where I am working out things are the more interesting (I think), rather than the "what I did today" genre. I do not write to please anyone. I write with an audience in mind, somewhat, but I assume that audience is going to be five people -- Mom, Dad, Mere, Princess and E2 . . . maybe six including E1. And although it is flattering that other people would spend time, which they cannot get back, looking at what I write; I am still basically writing for myself.

I had an interesting comment interaction last night, which makes me what to set some things straight. The comment feature seems to be a blessing and a curse on most blogs . . . both dooce and Matthew Good write about it often (only blogs that I read with any regularity) and have turned off the comment feature on their blogs . . . and maybe we're just extremely soft-skinned. But people feel the need to offer advice. Fine. Great. I put this stuff out there. Go for it.

(More comment fodder: I, in no way, am comparing myself to Heather Armstrong or Matthew Good in any other capacity other than comment difficulties. They are both amazingly talented people, with fabulous websites, and they get 1000 comments a post . . . seems silly that I am complaining about my 3.)

But when the advice involves how I've somehow wronged you in some way . . . well, keep in mind that my mother and father read this. My email is at the top of the page. There's another one in the profile. You could spread the venom (or the advice) that way, I suppose.

Why don't I just delete the comments? Well, I have a problem with deleting things just because I don't agree with them . . . or just don't like them . . . or what have you. If I comment is published about an entry, I'll leave it. I may pull the post but for some reason it seems unethical to delete the comment.

As for saving me from being a whiny, judgemental bitch, please see the first paragraph of this entry. I am not writing to please you. You could just stop reading that entry if it displeases you. You could just not type the address into explorer's (or modzilla, or whatever's) address bar. You could stop looking at my site. You could pretend that you don't know me. You could shun me. There is an amazing amount of crap on the internet, my site included . . . you could look at that other crap instead. I hear there is free porn.

And I know that you're trying to be helpful (at least I prefer to think that you are trying to be helpful). But these entries are showing you the inside of my brain, at a single moment in time. And how would you like it if someone told you that what you were feeling at a given moment was wrong, whiny, moaning, bad, stupid, (fill in blank here)? And for those who think "Well, you are publishing for the general public. You could have a journal." Yes, you are right. I could.

Most of the time, the comments are from my mother. Which is fine. She'll voice her opinion no matter what, so I'll get that information whether or not she chooses to put it in writing. And she's my mother . . . the only one I have. So she gets to do what she wants . . . and say what she wants. As for everyone else, I don't want to say "don't write hurtful crap" because sometimes I need to be checked but if it's really intense . . . again, you have my email. You don't have to call me a bitch in public.

Thanks.