Last night, at the end of a long anxiety dream, I had a vision in which I was standing on a city block in the very early morning. In front of me, obese women wearing clear plastic undergarments were bathing themselves, and then throwing the soapy water into the street. The air reeked of sex. “I need to get a picture of this,” I thought to myself, still sleeping. “This would make a great blog post.”
When I woke up, very early, I went directly to the shower. There, I thought I had a revelation. “I’m not going to blog anymore,” I told Caleb when he came in to check if I was just standing underneath the hot water, my hands cupped and raised to catch it, rather than bathing. I was. It was 6:30, and I had a car service coming to pick me up for a television appearance at 6:45.
With the blog, I used to feel like I had a clarity of purpose. No matter what, it made me feel good to write on it every day. Now, I agonize about how it affects other people. Is it worth it to hurt them? Am I being mean just for attention? And why do I need attention at all? My therapist said I blog to get validation I never got from my parents (waaa waaa), but are the consequences—public exposure, potential loss of credibility, frequently offending friends and family—really worth it?
“What will you do with your energy, though?” Asked Caleb, when I told him. Suddenly, he looked very afraid.
“You’re right,” I said. So here I am, exposing myself as usual, shaking off loose pieces of my mind.
