2004-08-17

typing practice

gosh, some bloggers are just so damn cute. as evidenced by my writing, I make a much better reader of blogs than creator. sometimes I worry that I just want to have people react to me the way I find myself reacting to them. or their writing. or their pursuit of their dreams. or their photos.

(heck, I'll never get my writing gooder if I get phone calls and work interruptions!)

at some point growing up, I fell in love with the idea of being famous. once upon a time, a performing art or a sporting event caught my eye and I dreamed of doing that, on tv or on stage. but somewhere inside there was a kernel of interest in an activity.

this only came to me in watching the Olympics. I don't recall what made me want to dance (12 year-old Hope Anderson's recital in Derry, NH?). but, I do remember being awe-struck by gymnasts. (the girls moreso, because their floor exercise routines were done to music.) also early on, I caught glimpses of naked male flesh during one of the first broadcasts of the Hawaii Ironman. it was the same with Cirque du Soleil and my ill-fated rope and acrobatics classes. I wanted that to be me.

not just to do it. but to be seen doing it. external approval is something I seek. this ain't news to me, thanks to therapy, life coaching, journaling, reading, thinking, etc. in addition to loving any given activity (ballet, skateboarding, academics, art, activism and athleticism), the desire for greatness or mastery wasn't the pursuit in and of itself. I wanted people to notice me.

(why, yes, my father withheld his love. and, yes, I'm a middle child. why do you ask?)

it's apparent to me in my writing. who knows if it's any good? some is. some not so much. since no one's reading it, I'm forced to focus on doing it for my own sake. blogging has become the first thing that I do that I hide from the outside world. (which is ironic, considering the public forum in which it lives.)

only one person (emmalola) I know knows about this blog�the darker, more secret blog. (wait. he knows, but doesn't read it.) even my happy-go-lucky documentary bloggy-blog isn't mentioned, other than linked in mama-mentioned-above's profile. occasionally, I fear that my web-surfer extrordinaire manfriend will stumble upon this. and that wouldn't be good. he wouldn't be able to evaluate the writing beyond its content.

so why do it? just for the act of doing. if I can't do yoga without wanting to win, race without craving improvement, swim without auditions or competitions, make pretties without selling them, then this will have to be my lone hobby.

(I just hope you find me in your refers and sift through the bad stuff to see a lil' bit o' good.)

earlier - later