These Are the Reasons

Mom looked at me last night with the question

-Now that you're 18, can I read your journal?

-What does being 18 have to do with you reading my journal? No.

To that Keith piped up that everyone else could read it.

well..yeah.

That's the funny thing about blogs. You know everyone can type in that familiar lunchbox dilemma and read about everything from lovely to an alcoholic family.

However, when you hit the publish button and find yourself staring at that "blog updated page" the world doesn't really exist.

So much goes into writing to the audience for some. Others consume themselves with their own thoughts and emotions.

Dear turned to me yesterday and asked me if everything here was true. She said it was written like a story.

Honestly, seeing it evolve with characters and razor tipped metaphors helps me to detach from the fact that dad never calls or that I can't be affectionate to my mother. It staples down the swirling feelings for Mr. All Around Kind of Guy and brings me back to base.

Some evenings I lie in bed exhausted, but some amazing sentence creeping along the cerebral highway drags me away from those sheets and to this finger worn keyboard.

Sometimes people will make a reference to my blog, and suddenly the realization that my soul has an address punches the faithful wife right in the face. The reason I don't want my mother reading this is because I don't like to know who reads it.

Perhaps people assume none of this is true because they don't realize that these words are the reality. Not a soul can interact with me here. I'm protected from the outside world where I know I am not always true to myself.

So mom, I'm sorry. There are some posts I would love for you to read and to understand, but it just can't work that way.