I have kept a diary every year from 1987 to 2004. In the year my parents divorced, the gaps grew longer so that by the last two years, I was only writing it when I went on holiday. As you know, with big life changes and emotional trauma, one's priorities and focus change.
Then this year I discovered blogging, a new and necessary outlet. Not only an outlet for frustrations, but a forum for sharing thoughts, beautiful things and happiness with friends and other people who appreciate them.
I enjoy re-reading some of my posts. Others embarrass me, but what is written I will not erase because I meant it all at the time. Now that we blog, we are exposing some of our inmost thoughts to public scrutiny. Some people don't monitor what they write at all. Some maintain a purely public professional writing front. The rest of us keep a balance between the two extremes. There are many things I wish I could say in one or other of my blogs, but I do not, in deference to the feelings of some of my readers. In these cases, I write it on paper, the way I sometimes jot down ideas for real blogs, but after a few days of re-reading it, I will screw it up and throw it away. That is my personal therapy, I suppose.
The strange thing is, a blogger may only restrain the free flow because of readers he or she knows personally. It is much easier to let go when you are read by complete strangers whom you know will not judge you because they do not know you personally - although, because of what they are reading, they know you in ways even your parents do not.
There are so many complex levels of intimacy, aren't there?
Some of my best composition is done in my head while in the shower, or on my pillow before I fall asleep. What I blog there is sometimes lost, but often the spirit remains so I can capture its shadow the next day with my keyboard.
I am rather disappointed that my mental writings are more concise, compact, efficient, and well-constructed than my written blogs -- see, even now the sharp entry I had in my head is dissipating as I knew it would -- so that by the time you read it, it has become rather rambly.