Thought Jumble

Top Ramen for breakfast.

This blogging thing is going to be very interesting.  I still find myself a bit stifled... well, let me rephrase that: I find that I'm still stifling myself a bit.  I posted for the very first time on Friday.  Since then there have been moments that I've thought, "I should write" or, "I want to write" but I've held back.  I think I'm still afraid.  My boyfriend's been home all weekend so that may be a part of it, not feeling quite as free to sit down and take my time and write when I'm not alone.  Furthermore, if I'm being totally honest, I started cruising blogs more on Saturday which I've never really done before.  I just kept clicking the "next blog" button and seeing where it took me.  I would say a decent majority of the blogs I stumbled upon were happy housewives/mothers who talked way too much about their children.  Here's the truth part: they drove me crazy.  I found myself extremely annoyed and judgmental of them.  "I'm a stay-at-home mom and my husband is the most patient man in the world and we have three beautiful children together [insert names and ages here] and we have two spunky pure-bred puppies that I just adore.  Welcome to my little slice of paradise!"  I started to wonder, why are they writing?  Nobody wants to hear about your trip to the vet or little Jimmy's first soccer game; at least I don't.  But then, how am I really any different than that?  How are any of us who "blog" any different?  What makes what anyone has to say important?

I've definitely been rethinking blogging.  I mean, one of the main reasons I never started one before was because I thought that blogs were so egotistical.  At the same time, though, there are some blogs that I've read that manage to be eye-opening, insightful into one's own behavior and thoughts, helpful to others through their own introspection.  But what's the difference?  Where is the line drawn that makes one blog seem like blathering and another one seem... good... or important?  Maybe it's purely technical, just the writer's ability.  I guess I tend to think it's more philosophical though, the intentions behind what is being written, and the meaning it has to the author.  I'm so afraid of seeming like the blathering type... but then, I'm doing this first and foremost for myself, my own personal record-keeping and need to process all of the (technical term here:) shit that flows endlessly through my head.  The infinite brain static.  And I suppose I need to keep in mind the reason that I've left this public instead of private, even though I doubt anyone will ever read it.  It's the risk factor.  I've avoided any form of risk and vulnerability for so long; probably my entire life in fact.  I feel horrible and guilty for thinking badly of those stay-at-home moms.  Who am I to judge them about anything?  Freedom of information, write about what's important to you.  If I really look at it, it's jealousy.  I'm jealous.  There's a part of me that wants so badly to be able to say that I love my life and I'm so happy and I want to share it with the world.

I can't though.  I don't have that.  I haven't since I was a very small child... which is almost worse, because I remember what it was like to be truly happy and to love life.  I remember telling my mom all the time how much I loved being alive.  And I think the difference between then and now is that I felt so certain about everything.  I was going to live in the same small house for my entire life because I loved it so much.  Now I look back at that place and realize the neighborhood was a bit scummy... the houses at the bottom of the hill were owned by a slum-lord.  My mom just told me a couple years ago that at one point those homes had dirt floors.  It's strange how kids don't notice those kinds of things, I mean there was no such concept for me as economic differences when I was in elementary school.  I think I also felt like I knew the way the world worked, and maybe all kids do.  Everything is so simple and concrete: there's good people and bad people, there's right things and there's wrong things, bugs are awesome, it's fun to play outside, my mom and dad are the coolest.  I was also so nonjudgmental of myself... I wish I could get that part back the most, sometimes.

I don't really know what direction this post is going in anymore... I originally thought I was going to write about the bad news I learned yesterday regarding my dad.  I suppose that hasn't processed enough, yet.  I feel pretty numb lately.  Stupid bodily defense mechanisms.  I can feel it when it's happening but I'm incapable of stopping it.  Intense emotion that feels like it's too much to handle is followed shortly with a wave of nothingness.  It's like being washed over from head to toe, like falling into a pool and emerging without any sense of feeling any longer.  I know why it happens, but I hate it.  I know it's there to protect me, but it also affects my ability to feel emotions like love.  I need to love, and my boyfriend needs to feel loved.  And I know for certain that it's still there, buried somewhere, but I can't seem to bring it to the surface despite my best efforts.  The one thing that I feel so grateful and lucky to have is my relationship with him; he is so understanding and caring and I feel terrible that he has to go through all of this with me.  He doesn't deserve it.  And if I think about it logically instead of emotionally, I don't deserve it either.  But he is an innocent bystander, and I just wish I could make it so he doesn't have to experience it, too.

Well, I suppose it's about time for me to commence with Valentine's Day preparation.  He was so sweet last night.  When I came home, he knew that I'd had a rough night so he surprised me with a GIANT V-day balloon and a box of chocolates a little early.  Now I just have to figure out how to compete with that.