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I recently told someone how it freaks me out a little bit when I find out people I know read the blog–especially male people. Cause sometimes I put it all out there. Even about, ahem, my upper body.
It’s not like I ever forget this is out there for the general population; it feeds into my personal Facebook account and is linked at the bottom of each of my e-mails. And yet I choose to ignore that those closest to me can read it–along with our leasing agent, the workers of our former day care, choir members at church, and anyone else who darn well wants to.
There’s a comfort in writing. I keep writing because I have to. Long ago I used to think it was strange that I narrated my own life in my head. Now I just write blog posts in there instead. Changing my life, tweaking it to make it digestible for general consumption. Adding quirky tidbits and baby pictures.
I do love those emails from the unknowns. It warms my heart that someone cares about me and wants to minister to me. One recently said, basically, “Been there, done that, praying for you. It gets better.”
I believe you.
Nonsensical, perhaps, but with 23 seconds to spare. Part of The Gypsy Mama’s Five-Minute Writing Exercises. [After I wrote this, I realized it was last Friday’s prompt. Oh well! Posting anyway.]