A Dilemma

Gee I hope I spelled that correctly, considering the number of incredibly literate and English-Major-y people who read this. I capitalized that on purpose, by the way.

I don't think I've ever written for this blog, but I figure it's as good a time as any, especially since I'm barely getting anything written on my own.

But that's the point. I'm not writing stuff in my blog, and I've been trying to figure out why. After much self-analysis, I think I've found the reason.

Blogging Self-Consciousness.

Have you ever suffered these symptoms? Mind twitching and fingers itching to express, expostulate, examine, expose--but newly-awakened (and highly unrecognizable) part of the brain screaming "TOO PERSONAL!", leading to (I was going to use the word inevitable here, but after reading a certain blog, decided not to) complete blog-writing shutdown.

Truth is, there's someone who reads my blog that I don't want to have access to my inner, personal thoughts anymore. (Obviously this doesn't apply to the FOBsters.) What's laughable is that I'm not worried about faceless strangers (if there are any) reading some of my deepest angst and most personal emotives. I'm concerned about one, known to me, with whom I no longer desire to share the more private things I'm thinking. It's the need for personal disclosure but the desire for selective personal disclosure. Of course, I may have inadvertantly solved my own problem as that person may read this entry by following the breadcrumb trail of connected blogs. But what's to stop the wrong person from thinking I'm talking about them? These thoughts makes my stomach twist and writhe.

I miss blogging. I miss writing clever entries about the things happening in my life and reading the clever reactions from my clever friends, but I am very concious of not wanting to give away parts of myself to some who store them up as evidence of friendship intimacy that no longer exists.

Do I open a new blog? Make mine invitation only? Do I write bland things for the old one? Forget about the person or persons heretofore referred to and sally forth? Do I sell or give away all that I have, move to a new country, acquire a new name and start all over? Oh, wait. Already done that.

I find it a bizarre and likely, unsolvable dilemma. What would you do?

Help me, Obi-FOBkanobi! You're my only hope.

I Miss My Friend

Oy vay! Oy vay! She’s gone away,
we’re really in a rut!
It’s been too long since we could say
“Hello, Queen Zippergut!”

Yes, Londonish lyres and Shropshirish shires
are housing her red, stylish cut.
While Fob-friends are fearing their love-light expires
without Queen Zippergut!

She penned female fears in their innocent years,
and never resorted to smut,
which puts her ahead of—well, all of her peers,
that novelist, Queen Zippergut!

She brought chocolate cakes for her Fobbish friends’ sakes,
and garnished it with cashew nut.
And she always forgave all their writing mistakes--
a saint she is, Queen Zippergut!

Yes—oy vay! Oy vay! She’s gone away,
and I will tell you what:
Come back! –and then you'll hear us say,
“We love Queen Zippergut!”