The Right Words Don’t Belong Here

Image by Barnaby via Flickr

I wish I could put what is in my head into words. I wish I could unburden myself, pour it all out of myself in a thick stream, and have something that makes any kind of sense come out.  This blog was started as a personal diary, but back then, there was no Twitter or Facebook. I didn’t know about Google, about each individual post being it’s own search result. I didn’t know how not private a blog is.

Unless I were to password-protect this blog, there’s no way to make what I write here private. There’s no way I can use this space as a place to write about what’s really happening in my life, because it’s not really personal anymore. Table for Five is a brand, an entity with a life of it’s own. But all I want to do right now is write, unburden, purge.

The problem with blogging as a job is that any other kind of blogging besides the kind that furthers business goals feels like cheating. I need 5 or 6 hours a day MINIMUM to make even a small dent in my email and update my three blogs.  The problem is, the place I’m in right now in my head, I’d rather spend that 5 or 6 hours a day on denial and avoidance and trying to shake it off so I can move forward.

I realize how cryptic I’m being here, which is exactly the problem.

There’s a lot going on in my life right now. I feel just a little bit like my arms and legs have each been tied to a separate horse, and someone’s about to crack a whip and yell GO.   I can’t deal with all the broken things but I can’t figure out how to fix them all, either.   I’ve completely given up on expectations of perfection, now I would settle for just okay most days.

And now comes the part where I admit just how lame I am – one of the reasons I don’t just start a private blog is because I would hope for comments on my posts. *hangs head in shame*  Yes, it’s true. Even if I were blogging about my personal problems, I would still hope for a few friendly, supportive comments once in a while. Maybe someone would read something they could relate to, something they’ve been through themselves, and would have a comment that would make me feel better.

Is that wrong?

So that’s where I am right now.  It’s so hard for me to focus on any one thing that I can’t focus on anything. My head is a swirling pool of unfocused thoughts and plans. I’ve used more similes and metaphors in this post than I can count, because I don’t know how else to explain anything.  I just wanted to write something here, so that some day maybe I can look back and say that I tried to explain it, without actually, um, explaining anything at all.

Damn it.

It’s supremely weird that I’m basically telling all of you that I have stuff to blog about that I don’t want to post here, but I don’t want it to be private, so if you wanted to, you know, read my Ode to Unburdening, you would have to ask me for the URL to the blog, which is you admitting that you would be fascinated by my internal turmoil, and me admitting that I would want to open myself up like I never have before, expose all kinds of ugliness, knowing that people who were likely to share an elevator with me at BlogHer would be reading it.

Blogging is really weird sometimes, you know?

It’s because I have this blog that I haven’t just gone and buried my head in the proverbial sand and disappeared. It’s bad enough that there are huge gaps where I wrote almost nothing personal at all, during my year of making badly-needed money but losing almost everyone who originally read this blog and who also, probably not coincidentally, moved on to bigger and better things while I stood back at the starting line yelling wait, what about me?

Issues, much?

The issues I have right now could fill a book. A THICK book. If I started from the beginning, if I broke my life down for you into manageable chunks and told you what I’ve done, where I’ve been, and how messed up things are now, you would probably give me a wide berth on that BlogHer elevator. Or maybe you wouldn’t, I don’t know. I hate being this fucking passive-aggressive.  So, I’m going to stop now and hit publish, and go take a two hour nap while Kaitlyn takes hers, and maybe when I wake up, everything will feel a little better. Sorry to go all Emo on you.