I just wrote a very personal post and did not hit the publish button. I have edited it and reread it. I asked myself if I felt better after writing it, and in some ways I do, in some ways it is just an outlet for my frustrations about a certain situation that will not change as long as I do not change.
At various times I have published when I am in the heat of the moment, the center of the vortex, riding high on raw emotion. And a time or two, my butt has born the brunt of those posts.
Recently, while blog surfing, I read an interesting question. It went something like this,".........if what you are publishing on your blogs is not interesting now, why should it be interesting in 2017?"
And I thought, this is a blog for me! Of course when I look back 10 years from now it will be very interesting to me. It is a blog for me!! For God's sake.
AOL did not allow for a draft key. I love it. It gives me time to think, "Okay that post is for me....do I really want to send it out there into the Blogosphere for the entire world? Or my family, Joe's family? Hell, no. I applaud the draft button.
Getting back to the 2017 statement. I have written diaries and journals since I was in grammar school. Sometime in the late 1970's I burned them all, except one.
That one is from my early high school days and I love it.
The pages are old and the pictures I cut out from magazines and the newspapers are faded and the scotch tape is brittle. The hand writing is foreign, is that really me? The things I deemed important enough to write about are wonderful journeys back to the young person I once was.
I like her a lot. And yes, she is interesting 40 years later!
"Albert came up to me before we danced to ask me to dance. I was a little afraid because I really don't know how to dance. Anyway, after a little while Kev says, "Here comes Albert" and I said "Where is he?" and Kev says "Right beside you!" And Albert said "Come on Mary, teach me how to dance." Ha! We stepped on each others feet all through the slow dance. He had had a lot to drink. He told me that he and Father Sullivan had split a bottle of champagne between them!"
Gotta love those Italian-Irish weddings!