Blog Archives
The quandary of Facebook
Ok. I’ll admit it. I’m ‘one of them.’
I’m the diary chick.
SO not a ‘status’ chick. “I am currently writing a blog.” <POST> nah.
But, in my defense, I’m also VERY selective with my ‘friends.’ And I quote that because I see people with hundreds upon HUNDREDS of friends and I just don’t get it?
Facebook is not LinkedIn … Facebook, I thought, was a personal web page of sorts that you communicated from to your favorite friends and family?
I have under 100 ‘friends.’
I share too much.
I have also found myself deleting posts after posts because I feel inadequate or unable to be ‘real’ even with my selected friends.
Why?
Insecurities obviously … But, also, because THEIR lives SEEM so freaking amazing. I feel I fall short when I am honest.
And if you’re going with the above cartoon, then WHY is a photo of food not acceptable????
Tangent.
If we’re keeping it to ‘status’ only, then, what I’m eating is perfectly appropriate. Right?
I enjoy such features as IM. Instant messaging friends from all over the planet – for FREE!
No phone bill.
No stamps. (Although, I DO miss hand written letters.)
Off Tangent.
I have decided Facebook users fall into the following categories:
*The fantasy poster* – You ONLY hear good from them and their lives sound like they have a unicorn in their backyard and rainbows and confetti in their front yard – and you will NEVER live up to their marriage/relationship/mothering/fathering skills.
(Problem I have with these friends is that I actually judge myself – compare myself TO them.)
*The sometimes poster* – They really only remember Facebook when they’re NOT living their lives – because they’re real, and maybe they’ll share something fun with you. But, who know’s what’s going on in between.
*The work poster* – They’re busy, but want to advocate their occupation. You’ll get glimpses of their lives IF they decide it merits sharing and the post is innocuous – but mostly, it’s about work.
*The semi-honest poster* – Shares when they’re sad or happy – when their kids/partner/selves are sick or tired – but will stop at anything embarrassing.
*The Stalker* – They’re your friend, and occasionally will ‘like’ a post, but mostly just hangs back and reads everyone’s statuses and won’t share a damn thing.
* The over sharer (me) – will purge EVERYTHING without thought and regret it later. Usually will delete.
Thing is – I’m a writer!!!! I AM! I was published by 10. Have never stopped wanting to share. And this is why my friend list is short. And this is why I keep diminishing it – because I don’t WANT to stop being honest. I don’t WANT to have to edit myself.
MY Facebook IS my personal page. And anyone invited should seriously consider it an honor (tongue in cheek) because I just don’t trust many people.
I’ll be purging all over the place AND deleting – because that IS what I do.
God forbid I actually get a book published – would be pretty hard to delete. 😉
Um, and by the way … Check THIS out. After hitting review:
What I was even going to originally write about on Sunday was Stefan Kiesbye.
But then I felt bad – like I’d cornered him. (My issues, no reality there.)
He is my favorite author.
AND, a friend on Facebook.
Yes, I had even deleted my innocuous Valentines post to my friends and family.
Funny thing is – I got a message from Rainer on Valentine’s Day – and I remembered asking him to get Stefan’s autograph for me at a book fair in Europe.
ANYWAY! If you haven’t read these – you really should …
The Staked Plains – (when I got an ARC I FLIPPED out!)
And – my favorite ….
Bottom line I guess … I want to be real. I don’t want to delete a moment. I want to share EVERYTHING with you. Was watching a movie today (can’t remember which – I got Netflixbewitched) and one of the quotes went something like … I can’t remember. But it was important. And hey, mid-forties, cut me a break. Maybe THAT’S why I share everything? Because a year from now, Facebook is going to remind me I have a memory.
To blog or not to blog …
I hurt someone with my last post.
I really didn’t mean to – I straddle that line of honesty and discretion every time my fingers hit the keyboard.
I came across as ungrateful.
That was not my intention either.
The day was amazing – I was sharing the whole of it though, without going into details.
But I’ve done damage.
My blog is up for renewal next month – I’m debating whether or not to keep it. Why? Because I have the awful condition of not being able to shut up.
And I’m too forthcoming for my own good sometimes – and clearly, too forthcoming for others good too.
I don’t want to post watered down, milquetoast writings.
I’ve always wanted and needed to be free in my writing.
And when I write – it’s mostly about what is going on in my life in that moment.
I could sit and do a journalistic piece keeping me, my life, friends and family out of it – but it wouldn’t be authentic.
I’m proud of the interviews I’ve done.
I love my photography category. There’s some good stuff in there.
But what I’ve always needed to do is just … write. And it comes from somewhere inside that I try not to filter too much.
So what to do?
I’m not sure.
But I know I feel awful – and remorseful.
And I never wanted those feelings to come from my writing.
Mending my heart – with the boy who stole it
What a difference a day makes!
I’m feeling hopeful and positive. Even while our town is ensconced in fog – a rarity for our area.
It’s so beautiful.
I have to share with you a dream I had the other night.
In it, I was told that my heart condition could no longer be helped by the medicines I took. I was told I could be part of a group that were being ‘put to sleep’. It was explained that it was a mercy ending and did I want to participate?
I thought about it and decided it was probably the best route. I didn’t want to put my family through a sudden ugly passing. I also somehow knew if I didn’t take this opportunity, I would die alone.
The time was arranged and I told my friends.
The day of the arranged ‘end’ – I went to the clinic. There were others there, dressed comfortably and quietly entering a room.
I changed my mind.
I was told that the only way I could get out of it was to have my doctor give his permission.
I could not for the life of me (no pun intended) remember my doctor’s name! I scoured through a phone book until I finally found him. I called – and there was no answer.
It was at this time, that I should have been dead. I remember checking my Facebook and seeing that a friend had posted a tribute – it was me and a naked mole rat (yup, that little creature at the top of this page). The post had 34 likes at the time I saw it.
I was still alive, but no one knew. So … I ended up going into that room.
I felt the IV – I felt the liquid entering my body and felt myself going under. I tried to fight it – but knew it was too late. I was never to wake up.
As you can imagine, I was very grateful to wake up yesterday morning – and realized – that I needed to address what was hurting my heart.
This rift with my favorite person on the planet was now manifesting not only physically, but into nightmares.
Something had to be done – and so last night, I had a conversation with my son.
I shared my concerns and asked the questions I needed answers to.
When I opened myself up to my son, he opened back.
Honesty.
Truth.
It was wonderful.
I found a way to help him last night – and as I did, I realized not only were we solving one of his problems together, but I was getting the time I needed with him in the process.
Win win.
I typed as he dictated a late paper. I saw an area I could be of service – let him focus on the words and let my aptitude for touch typing at great speed make the task less daunting. Get it done so he could get the rest he needed.
We exchanged glances and smiles and laughed together.
“This is how it should be.” I told him. “A balance. Of school and work and relationships and fun – and us. I missed you. And you must reach out when you need help.”
(Which is funny coming from me – ask anyone who truly knows me who has tried to offer their help. I’m SO stubborn – and will only resort to accepting aid if my problem begins to affect those I love.)
I awoke at 11:30 to a sound in my room – and climbing onto my giant bed, was my boy. I suddenly had my entire little family close to me.
Butters snoring on one side, Nic finding sleep on the other. I daren’t move – my heart was smiling.
If that was the last moment of such closeness I get – I’ll hold tight to it. My boy breathing and dreaming, my dog nestled up on my pillow. I lay there and though I was tired, wanted to soak up every second of that. Until my eyes closed again and I found sleep.
And there were no nightmares last night.
Musings from the Laundromat: Putting things to Write edition
Yes. Intentional.
When I started this blog, I had hoped to have a place to process, purge, sort through such things as matters of the heart, my past and my unedited thoughts.
I started out telling only 2 or 3 trusted friends where to find it – then I went public online and after deciding I only have friends on Facebook that I trust and who know me, I then would share my links.
Mistake? Maybe, maybe not. But definitely I found myself editing.
I haven’t discussed Matters of the Heart – protecting the identity of people in my private life this past year. I haven’t gone deep into my past – protecting the identities of those involved. And I certainly have been editing my thoughts. As if I would feel I owed everyone an apology for having them.
I just can’t do ‘phoney’. I can’t. It eats at my gut and sticks in the forefront of my brain gnawing away at me.
Relatives and acquaintances have told me in so many words, that I think too much. I share too much.
It’s who I am. Who I have always been. Who I always will be.
I think those concerned with me sharing too much are the ones who have shared too much with me.
They needn’t worry. If my story line crosses over to someone else’s, I don’t feel it’s my story to tell.
But when it comes to me and me alone, I have to be authentic.
A friend posted this today and I laughed. So true.
I do love my life.
But find myself editing my statuses too.
I’ve had this self-imposed expectation of myself for a few years, that I can’t be ‘human’.
Always wanting (needing) to do the right thing – making living amends to myself and others for years of wrong choices.
Trying to be some perfect unobtainable example for my son.
I can’t do it anymore.
Not because I am incapable, but because it is not authentic and it is not healthy, spiritually, to deny a facet of me exists.
I am blunt and very forthcoming by nature. It is inherently who I am. If I edit myself, I’m not honoring that part of me. I’m telling myself in a round-about way, ‘that part of you is unacceptable’.
Unacceptable to whom? I’m fine with it. Why am I always worrying about what ‘they’ are going to think?
I seem to in constant battle with myself this past year or so. The care-giver and sensible me shaking her head at every personal desire. “That’s selfish” “That’s wrong” “That’s not putting others first”.
In a quest to be the best me I could possibly be, I left some of me behind.
I am not always happy. I have high-highs and painful lows – I feel to the nth degree and I love that about me!
And – shocking news: I want things. Not material things – but things that would serve to give me pleasure.
I want pleasure without guilt.
I want to be able to say “No.” I want to be able to say “Yes.” Purely based on how I feel about something and not how it effects the person posing the question.
But the battle wages on.
And it’s not a matter of ‘good’ vs ‘bad’ – it’s a matter of acknowledging that I deserve things sometimes too.
That being grateful for what I have and making good choices, doesn’t mean I should ignore the woman inside me who has needs that don’t sustain life.
And that they don’t make me bad.
They make me whole.
Too much
It’s true.
And I’m okay with that.
Thinking too much feeds my imagination, my curiosity, my spirituality – my heart and my soul.
As long as I’m aware it is ‘too much’, and am able to set aside the findings with emotional health and a clearer understanding – it is a positive thing.
I am someone who craves truth.
If a thought occurs to me to which I don’t have an answer – I must find it!
From researching a topic to examining my own feelings.
I love to dig deep and discover.
If I’m not being genuinely me, I am emotionally, physically and mentally in turmoil. Even if I cross a line – ask too much – indulge in brief, unwarranted sadness – I can feel that I’ve at least been true to myself.
Truth I feel is internal – and honesty for me, is external.
I can’t lie.
I used to be able to – which was never a good thing. But in my quest to like myself – improve myself and heal myself – I evolved.
I obey laws and rules – admit when I’ve made mistakes – answer personal questions with complete honesty, (no matter how hard it is to share) – I tell the people I love that I love them, and when I don’t know where I stand – I ask.
It has been a relief to live in an untangled web.
Debauchery Soup 