Making life difficult

Sigh. I seem to be fundamentally committed to the project of making my life difficult at every given opportunity. There are times and places where things could get more complicated, or stay simple, and I seem always to take the former option.

Moreover, there's very little more about it that I can say here, for fear of self-exposure. Which means not only that I've just said too much (see my previous musings on the not-/telling of secrets...) but that I have already exposed too much by revealing this space to various people. And which, in turn, brings me to a question Olga suggested I face at some point, and which I have long avoided (while my blog-buddies have faced it head-on), namely what it is to blog.

For whom do I blog? Right now, I don't want anyone to read this - I want a quiet space where I can know for sure that I am not at risk in any way by airing my issues. But now you must feel like I don't want you here... but who are you? Go on, come out if you're there. Show your faces. I need to know who's there... I've invited some people along the way - Rogers, ITHOM, Spurious, Necoh, Olga, RNM, for instance - and I know that some have come, some have brought friends, and almost certainly the greatest liabilities are not regular visitors. Maybe I no longer have any visitors at all. I know for sure that Olga doesn't come - she said as much, and told me she doesn't like reading blogs, because she feels like a peeping tom, and so she suggested I question why I blog. For whom do I write?

Who do I imagine you are? At least two Unknowns have found me - that felt kind of strange, and yet I was rather chuffed. 3BT has linked to me, after my 3BT post, and that was kinda nice too. But who do I think you are out there as I write? I have no idea. For what it is that I need to say, I want it to stay that way... I don't want to know you. Do I even want an audience? Evidently, some part of me does, since I type this and leave it for you to read. But why do I care? Can't I type this and save it in a journal? Yes, I suppose I could. But a part of me also likes the ritual of blogging, the search for a picture, the subtle commitment I feel to keep posting, because to post is to think... but more than that: to post is to unravel, to unpack; to type is to articulate is to formulate; without commitment to the Posting, there may be no post; with no blog, there is no post, only words. How fascinating, that you, my mythical, unknown, unfathomable and maybe non-existent audience, make my Words into a Post, and give my typing purpose.

I wear my life on my sleeve, and of course my blog (and even the existence thereof) is no exception. And so there are moments when I have something to hide that I need Posting to help articulate, and yet by definition that option is gone. I share my information with people who misuse it; I share in order not to think; and then, when I want to think and not share, I can't.

I walk tonight not in a battlefield seeking heroes but in forests with hidden eyes watching. Come out, come out, wherever you are...