Unlike Julie in Julie and Julia, I am freaked out by the idea of readers. As far as I know, I have been blogging to maybe a maximum of ten people (only one of whom has been a regular; thanks, S.) since 2006. Until this year, I haven't done anything about that. Today I realize at least one new person read my blog (thanks, D.) and I am already freaking out.
I am a big wimp. Though I hold strong opinions and often have a cranky attitude, I have absolutely no appetite for conflict. Part of me imagines new readers wanting to argue with me or stone me or shun me. I think there's more though. I'm not exactly clear what the freak-out is about. I'm too freaked out and tired to examine it further right now.
I'm really a lover not a fighter. But part of being a lover is fighting for what you love and this is why I do this work and why I feel like it needs to be taken up a notch, fear notwithstanding.
On the other hand, I know I do better work as a teacher and as a naked person. I let down the defenses? I'm just more tolerant of people's foibles.
Anyway, if it needs to be said about a blog: these are my opinions in the moment; this is me working stuff out; this is me and how I experience and process; sometimes I'm a more patient, more diplomatic person.
More stuff I want to write about:
A recent New Yorker short story, Diary of an Interesting Year, by Helen Simpson
A completely non-happy story about what happens to a British couple after the "Collapse." No Internet, no electricity, no stores, nowhere to live, etc. I don't like to say this, and in fact almost never have to anyone, but I believe our world will come to this in this decade. Freedom 55!
Which brings me to the Mayan calendar stuff and 2012. I am familiar with almost nothing about this information because, although I am open to alternative ways of knowing, I find most "new-age" literature really irritating. I may try to learn a little more because even though I don't know about the 2012 prophecies, etc. I feel in my bones that this will be the decade of really Bad Shit. Which is, again, why I go so far out of my pathetic comfort zone and do the naked thing and write my little blog. My pathetic little effort to Do Something.
I say pathetic because it seems so little and futile. And then added to the futility and tininess is my difficulty and fear. It's ridiculous but, on some deep level, I know it's one of my karmic jobs, the whole mess of it.