Honest to Blog

Sometimes I forget that this is a blog, not a personal journal. So I'll begin to type something a little too personal. And then I won't post it. Because in the end, self-censorship always wins.

I was skimming through drafts of things not published, and found this. It's not really a post. It's more of a quick email I sent to myself one day over a year ago when I couldn't focus, write coherently, or articulate the chaos in my head.

Do I still remember the context of the melodrama? In the words of Tina Fey as Sarah Palin, "You betcha." Will I elaborate? Maybe in my memoir.

I am slowly going crazy. For a different reason than usual. For a rather fun reason, but maddening all the same. And I can't blog about it. So I won't. It's not that I've sworn to secrecy. There is no threat of harm to myself or any other. But I still can't. You would understand if you were me. And if you were me, you'd also be going mad.

And will I ever tell you? Maybe. But don't hold your breath.

Oh, the secrets we keep.

[Insert self-incriminating material]

And later....

I suppose any detective worth his salt could figure out what I'm not blogging about through the things that I am. The art of omission or something. I'm so stupidly open book. Sheesh. I feel like I give myself away too easily. Not enough mystery. I shall try to be more elusive. Maybe I'll start wearing a veil. And get a cigarette holder.

And now that I've planted bizarre clues of nothingness in your brains, you may speculate to your hearts' delights as to what my head is going through. And you will be wrong.

The madness continues. Although in one small moment, my descent into insanity took a strange twist, and I am now pulled in two different directions. Straitjacket or padded walls?

~ October 17th, 2007

No wonder girls are accused of being confusing. I confuse myself.