Well. Shit.

The purpose of this blog is perspective. My head is often full of hard to comprehend emotions. Sometimes I need a place to work through whatever it is on my mind less it devours me up. Every now and again I talk about things that make people uncomfortable, and really, I’m okay with that. I try to be respectful of other people and all that bullshit, but at the end of the day this is for me. If you read this, you’re just along for the ride. Seatbelts are mandatory. I also change the stations obsessively and I’m not apologizing. With that in mind, I’ve never had the source of my writing actually read my words.

Manchild knows that I blog, but he has zero interest in wanting to read what I’m writing. If it’s not political pandering of some sort, he could care less. If I wrote about Sarah Palin it might catch his eye... but only if it gave him the opportunity to be angry about something. Dachshunds, fuckery, and my disastrous shenanigans aren’t on his entertainment spectrum. After all, he lives with me. He hears me talk about this stuff obsessively on a day to day basis. I can’t say that I blame him for not wanting to read about it as well.


But, I feel awkward knowing that some people read this. Know parts of my life I haven't got to go through the details in person with them. That we have that uncomfortable silence where I'm wondering what they know, and they're wondering what I haven't shared. Then we're dealing with that middle ground, where I never fair well. Sigh. Not that I'm a shy person, by any means. But, you know. Well, you know.