(Post Secret – in case you were curious about the title)
Lest you think my last post was some kind of passive-aggressive dig at him for moving in here and um, upsetting the cat let me assure you that he doesn’t read this blog.
One of the major reasons for abandoning my old blog was because my mother and my best friend and my husband read it. And instead of it being a place where I could express myself I became my own most prudish censor. I’d write something, relate a mundane little aspect of my day, and instead of just checking the spelling and then posting I’d spend a few days angsting over my every turn of phrase. By the time I felt ready to post it would no longer be relevant or funny (if it ever had been). More often then not I’d opt not to post it.
Even fiction was a problem. Try as I might to make a story go one way, to be correct, it would go it’s own way and there would be questions asked and explanations required and apolgies tendered. Blogging stopped being an outlet and instead became just one more thing I was compelled to apologise for.
(I say sorry a lot. I need to write about that one day too.)
I missed blogging. I wanted to get back to writing so I talked with him about it. I asked him how he felt. Turns out it was something he wanted me to do. And he wanted me to do so honestly, without censoring myself. Yes, he would like to read it but only if I am ready for him to read it.
He knows I use WordPress and he may have already caught a glimpse if the blog’s name; he knows I post under my own name. He woudn’t have to be Sherlock Homes to find this blog. Yet I don’t think he’s donned his deerstalker cap just yet. For that I am grateful.
Thing is I do want him to read this, not least because it is something so important to me and I want to share it with him. And hell, at least I’d finally have a reader.
Until then I’ll just keep writing, reading and readying myself for that day.