I thought it sounded idiotic.
Who would want to read my inner thoughts?
Who would I want to read their inner thoughts?
I just imagined a blog where a person recounted their day including what meals they ate, what work was like, and what was on TV.
I even created this one when bored one day at work.
I wrote in it once but never think of anything else I wanted to say to the whole world wide web.
Sure I had things I could vent about.
Things about work.
Things about family.
Things about friends.
Nothing that I would want everyone to read however.
Nothing that would not hurt someone's feelings.
So the blog hibernated.
Until I had lots to say.
Until I could not contain the bear anymore.
Around my house, in notebooks, in my car, and in my purse, I have these small scraps of paper that I find with things I want to blog about.
Things that come in the middle of the night or while driving.
My goal is to write at least once a day for at least a year.
And I was afraid that I would run out of things to say.
Boy, was I wrong. That has not happened in the slightest.
I usually have about five or six ideas bouncing around.
[This month has been hard keeping up with all my traveling.]
I miss blogging on the days I do not do it.
The thoughts seem to come more.
This blog has helped me gather my thoughts.
Helped me think things through.
Document things I do not want to forget.
Avoid the dreaded "How are you?" question since I could just point people here.
It has been an element of therapy.
There is the judgement.
So many things do not get blogged about.
As many widow/widower friends know, people who do not understand judge you.
People may think I am doing things out of order.
People may think I am not grieving properly.
People may think I am moving on too fast.
People may think I did not love Roger enough.
And then there are my friends who read this blog.
And my family who reads this blog.
And Roger's family who reads this blog.
I do not want to hurt anyone's feelings.
I never want to hurt anyone's feelings.
So I leave them out.
Which sucks for all those widows and widowers who want to know if they are normal.
I know I am searching to know if I am normal.
If I am doing things "correctly".
And I want to vent about things.
Talk about my various feelings about sex and love and everything else.
Instead I email my fellow shitty club members.
Instead I call the people that will understand.
Which I guess is fine.
Such is life.
I guess there are club rules that are not enforced by its members but by society.
By unwritten rules.
By scouring looks.
By whispers behind my back.
So I apologize to my fellow club members for the phone calls and long rambling emails.
But thank you all for listening and making me feel normal.