Alternate Title: I Don’t Want My Friends To Read This Thing
Today, 12:20pm: I eat a peanut butter sandwich for lunch.
Today, 1:20pm: I try a Picnic bar, and reject it because it has peanuts in it.
Figure that shit out. I looooove peanut butter. I dislike peanuts. Add that to the mysteries of life.
I also had a real virgin experience today. I mowed the lawn. In my world this has always been the perview of the male of the species and thus I’ve lived 24 blissful years never having to do it. But today I grabbed my balls, became the man of the house and got it done. I will probably regret saying this down the track when I’ve done it half a dozen times and the novelty has worn off, but right now, today…it felt kind of good. Hard work out there in the hottest part of the day, sure. But it felt good. I’m sure this has been added to the list of things to do around the house that are now my job, and if so, I am OK with this (again, for now). If it keeps my mother happy, I will mow the shit out of that lawn.
Damn…putting air in my tires, checking my oil, mowing the lawn, getting caught hooning down the highway…I feel like a real man this week! Although given the fact that I am a woman, I’m not sure if that’s a necessarily good thing. Man, next time I will need to wear gloves or work more efficiently or something, because I have actual blisters on my hand from doing it and it hurts to do things like moisturise. Oh wow. There are my ovaries popping back out! Hello girls! There we are, that’s better.
Day 50…I’ve been doing this for fifty days. What a nice even number. I feel like I should celebrate the fact that I’ve stuck with this for so long (for me, this level of commitment to a project is unheard of) and then I think…celebrate how? With whom? This is still a fucking secret blog. Not on purpose. I just happen to have not told anyone about it. I’m pretty sure there’s some fundamental failure of self-promotion evident in writing a blog and keeping it a closely guarded secret, but I’m nothing if not a fundamental failure at self-promotion.
“So Bob, what’s new with you?”
The amount of times I’ve had this exchange since the start of the year…
When I’m having the conversation I don’t think it ever occurs to me in the moment to say “Well technically, everything…” or “I’ve been blogging actually.” Or even “I’ve been trying some new things.” My brain works on autopilot 97% of the time, and up until now, “oh, nothing” has been the legitimate answer to that query. The fact that my answer should change now does not occur to me at all. Even if it did, I still doubt I’d say anything. The self consciousness, it is onmipresent. It takes over and I cannot arrest it or control it. It’s just me, I clam up. They should name clams after me, I clam up so much. “Happy as a Stace”, that’s what they should say from now on.
I’ve been doing this for 50 days and as yet I have only mentioned it to one person in my life. And only because it was her idea for me to blog and she was following up. And I can’t hide things from her. When I showed this to her, about a week in, I was so nervous I was almost sick. Literal stomach churning was happening. And this is a person that I know for a fact likes my writing. Loves my writing. Would have sex with my writing. Well no, not even that. I would have sex with my writing (This is just reality, not hubris. Nobody would publish a blog if they didn’t want to bang their writing just a little bit. Be honest fellow bloggers – you’d do your own writing in a heartbeat…). I think my friend loves my writing too much to be able to bang it. She’d be too nervous. If my writing was a person, my friend would take it out to dinner, get nervously drunk and stumble over herself all night, and then make a clumsy pass at it as they said goodnight and cry herself to sleep feeling like she’s ruined her chances with it forever. This poor bitch would get friendzoned by my writing.
ANYWHO, this is all by way of saying that I knew my fragile literary ego was safe in her hands, and I was still beyond terrified to reveal this part of myself to her. Because that’s what writing in public is, revealing little pieces of oneself. When you talk out loud to other people you want to be interesting to them. Maybe not all the time, because you can talk to people in your life, friends, family, whoever, for reasons other than entertainment. You don’t always have to be entertaining, but sometimes you do, and people like you more if you are. Or at least, you feel like they do. If you’re anything like me, you’re deathly afraid above all that you are a bore to basically everyone around you. When writing, when publishing something like this, that fear is multiplied because the sole purpose of reading a post on the internet is to be entertained in some way. I’m not telling you to pick milk up on the way home, I’m not related to you, I don’t work with you, I am of zero use to you in real life. You don’t know me, I’m from nowhere. There’s nothing keeping you here unless you are enjoying what you’re reading enough to keep reading, and to keep coming back. I have to entertain you, constantly, every time out. That fucking TERRIFIES me. Because the amount of times I have genuinely felt like I could be entertaining to a large number of people at once…you could probably count on one hand. I have enough trouble ever believing that I could be interesting to one person at a time. And this terror is somehow worse when it comes to my friends, whom I’m pretty sure like me and wouldn’t keep being my friends if they thought I was as boring as I think I am, than with perfect strangers who have no reason to be interested in me whatsoever. Figure that one out too. We got all the mysteries of life here today, big and small.
I guess the irony in all this self-involved hang wringing is that once I do calm down and show this to my friends, they’re going to read this post and probably think I’m quite insane (for any number of reasons). So now I’m like getting scared of them reading this post and seeing how insane I really am, to the point where I have almost talked myself out of telling them again, this time on purpose. I’ve gone in this entire circle all by myself here, and ended up back at the beginning. Completely fucking insane. Now you all know. My friends will, eventually. That’s my Day 50 revelation. I need to stop being such a fucking pussy.
Time to grab my balls once again.