A Moment in May

My house is quiet. And I desire to write.

But my fingers pause over the keyboard.

Hovering.

Stamping out a few words, letters...then deleting them.

Looking out the window at the ha-de-dah skewering worms on his beak.

It feels like I can't do this anymore.

"This"  being this blog. "This" being writing but not writing. Sharing but not sharing.

Pretending really.

This is not who I am.

I am all or nothing.

Soul bared and soul shared, or silent. IRL ( I have never needed to use that abbreviation ever before! That made me grin!) I strongly dislike small talk.

I like being real. I can't tell you how that began, or why, but it is something that I am supremely comfortable with. I'm comfortable with that skin. I'm emotional. Intense. Deep. Analytical. Obsessive. Yip, that's me. Comfortable.

And here's the funny part. I'm comfortable with being real with the people I know. And I have sometimes even been real with people I don't know, or people I have only just met.

But writing this blog - I come unstuck. I come unstuck because I know some of you. Some of you well, some of you not so well. Some of you I don't know at all.

My hear is shrouded right now... I feel it atrophying at the edges. And the only way I know how to massage it is to write.

And my question is ...how much of my heart do I serve up to you in a post?

What will happen to my heart?

Should this blog continue to live?

... and yet something within me cries out for women to be real, for there to be a community that holds one another's hearts and loves and cares and cradles them...the whole Titus 2 bit. And sometimes it's safer online. It's safer than real life.

Do I shut this blog down and invite those of you who want to over to another?

Am I confusing journaling with blogging?

But honesty always COSTS. And I'm not sure I'm willing to pay right now.