Idly continuing, living online

So many ways to keep thinking about the privacy vs. public in modern day. When I first started this blog, an old friend, wrote, "you were the original blogger!" Well hardly. When I lived with him I kept journals in black sketchbooks. Private journals. Ok, well maybe I read them aloud now and again, maybe to him (not that he was interested) or my h.s. pal Suzy. They certainly weren't available for strangers idly searching on the odd word.

So here it is 30 years later, and millions of us are typing our secrets online. Well maybe secrets, or maybe facades, or maybe just the day to day. When I started this, I wrote about bleeding through my jeans. So how come now I'm not writing about the cessation of the bleed? And how weird that feels? About buying Germaine Greer's, The Change over 15 years ago, keeping it on my bedtable and never reading it? About the surgery consult I had on Tuesday, for a procedure first suggested by my father, when I was 16? Why is that suddenly off bounds? Or why would it be in? Because we hunger for community? And the facades and what's behind the facades? I'm not sure where I want to draw the line.

I know I get sucked into almost everything by peer pressure. I'm the opposite of the loner explorer, iconoclast. Instead I get pulled in - what are they doing? what's that feel like? maybe I should be doing that? So I'm writing this blog because I'm curious. I really don't know if it's a good idea, a nice warm up, or a total waste of time. I don't know what it'll bring, but I'm sucked in, in the flow. So are we all. Pulled faster and faster, in more directions. No time for understanding the consequences, just slipping into the experience. What's it matter?