Charming, but single

I stared at the screen for a few minutes not knowing where to start, which is different for me. I may no know where I’m going when I start writing an entry, but I almost always know where I want to start. I don’t blog because I’m some dating goddess. I don’t blog because I think I know more than you do. I don’t blog because I want to be your best girlfriend or because I think I can give you dating advice. I don’t blog because I want you to tear me apart. I don’t blog because I need your validation. I don’t blog because I need the attention. I don’t blog because I’m a bitch. I don’t blog because I think I’m always right. I don’t blog to bring other people down. I don’t blog because I want you to be your girlfriend. I don’t blog because I want your opinion. I don’t blog because I think I am perfect. I blog because I love to write. No, really. Love. To. Write. I’ve written little newsletters, short stories, bad poetry and journals since I was very young. (I wrote this one story many many years ago that wasn’t so much a story as it was an homage to my favorite color combination at the time – pastel pink and pastel green. In the “story” everything the girl has is pink and green and swirled and lovely. And I don’t remember exactly what happens to her, but I am certain that her watermelon-flavored pink-and-green lip gloss was VERY central to her ultimate salvation.) In the perfect world, I’d lounge about on a pillow and write all day and people would drive trucks up to my house and bring me money in exchange for the writing. But the trucks haven’t gotten here yet. And they’ll probably never come. So I blog to give my passion for writing somewhere to go. Blogging is tricky business. If I didn’t want to be read, I wouldn’t publish this on the Internet, right? But being read isn’t the only reason I do it. Some days, I think it was easier to blog when no one read. Do I need a thicker skin? Probably. I do LOVE that people read the blog. I love that people sometimes see a little piece of them in my writing. I have blogs that I read in the morning as a break from my mundane existence. The peek into someone’s life makes me happy. And if I can be that to a few people, then that’s great. But that is just a side effect of blogging, really. Because I do this for me. It helps me work through my feelings and remember the glorious things we don’t always – it is easy to forget the flush we get about something when it ends poorly. In addition to allowing me to look at myself, this blog allows me to cherish those perfect little moments that would otherwise be lost in the bigger picture. If you do love to write and you do open your blog up to comments, you’re bound to get unsavory remarks from time to time. You come to expect them. But, as I told a commenter on the last post, negative comments on your journal feel like some intruder has stormed into your home and taken a dump on your carpet. And I guess you could say that I opened the door. But there is a difference between constructive criticism (which, FYI, I’ve never really asked for, though I do appreciate it at times) and outright meanness (again, also never asked for and appreciated to a much lessor extent). Maybe, I think, I should shut the door from time to time. In closing, I’d remind you that you don’t know me. We haven’t had lunch and cocktails and mani-pedis. You know what I let you know about me. And if I sound defensive, it is because care about myself. If I’ve learned anything from being fiercely independent and opinionated, it is that you have to protect your own heart and soul. And desiring to do so doesn’t make me a weak person.