Setting: in front of the house of one of my neighbors. This neighbor I actually like, and I am amused by how she brings me quilt-related things like a page from Country Living magazine that claims art quilts are the newest decorating trend. Our youngest kids are coloring on a table she has set up outside.
Neighbor (grinning): So, what did you blog about today?
Me: (How the hell does she know I have a blog?) Um...what?
Neighbor (still grinning): Did you blog today?
Me: (FUCK!) Yes...I did.
Neighbor: So, what did you blog about?
Me: Um...just the usual...quilting stuff.
Setting: my kitchen, about an hour later.
Me: WHY DOES MRS. X KNOW I HAVE A BLOG?
David: Well, I might have mentioned it...
Me: DID YOU ALSO MENTION THE NAME OF THE BLOG?
David: Well, I might have...
Thus the removal of yesterdays's post.
You know, this blog started out as a place where I could vent and work out problems and just be honest about things that were bothering me. Being able to put those things out into the world and have people respond with, "Yep, I get it," or "No, that's not a good way to look at it," has always helped me keep things in perspective, and I have a greater incentive to write about them here than I would in a private journal. But then Quilter's Home came along, and the blog address was published therein, and I had to hold back on a lot of things, specifically anything about my family or my in-laws that wasn't highly complimentary and/or affectionate. David assumed that because I had begun being more careful about that, that I was also censoring myself in all personal matters and that he was thus allowed to tell all and sundry the name of my blog.
I can't blame David. I should know better. When I write about things like a neighbor saying "Drinking is the only way you could get me to START quilting!" I write in a way that lets all my emotion out onto the page. I had hoped that that woman might become a friend, and I did things when she moved in that I thought might facilitate that. We had some common attitudes and it seemed like she had a good sense of humor. I know she thought the quilting comment was funny, and I know she thought it was self-deprecating. But the more afternoons I spend outside watching the other moms interact, I know I will never be friends with any of them, not in anything other than a passing hello and a superficial chat kind of way. I'm not like other people. I never have been. Most of the time I'm okay with that, but sometimes it makes me feel lonely and sad. And when someone I had thought might be a kindred spirit takes glee in pointing out that she would never do what I do unless she was drunk, it stings - even if she didn't mean for it to.
I could have written about it like that, but it wouldn't have been as freeing, and it probably wouldn't have touched a nerve in so many people. I discovered that, as I suspected, I am not alone - and more than fifty people left a comment to say so.
I have no way of knowing for sure if the neighbor above actually read my blog that day, or was just making conversation. She didn't pursue it and didn't act as though she knew something juicy. Still, I have to watch my words - again.
As always, thanks for reading, and commenting.