The worst feeling in the world.
I love my privacy. I have always kept journals. In periods of my life that I did not journal or blog, I wrote detailed notes (or emails, post 1997) to my girlfriends. I have always needed to talk about tiny aspects of my life in great detail, and be validated either by the talking process, or by the feedback I received. And I've always had friends who I could trust to keep my secrets, and journals that had the perfect hiding spot.
Which is why I now love to blog. Yes, I see the irony. With the potential of hundreds of perfect strangers reading it (or, er, maybe 8 if I am lucky), I should hate the blogging process, but I don't. Maybe it's because I don't currently get paid to write, which means I don't have those ocassional ego boosts ("hey, great job on that last piece.") Knowing that others are reading my blog and returning to read more, even if a month or more later, is a nice form of validation.
Yet, there are certain people who I don't want to read my blog. Like my mother-in-law, because she would hate any perceived critique of her son. Or my mom, who would disapprove of lots of things. Or mybrother-in-law, who would surely criticize many technical shortfallings. Now that I think of it, I would prefer that no family members read my blog.
Which is why I have been freaking out the last few days.
I installed Stat Counter to my blog, mostly so that I could see how long people stayed, which sites they went to next, where they came from, what search terms they used (in a nutshell: I am nosey). My freaking out came into play when I read the following:
66-23x-4x-1x8.starstream.net (Xo Communications)
State, City of Mom, United States, 17 returning visits
January 3rd 2007
12:09:40 PM
www.myotherwebsitedotcom
No referring link.
... and so on, 17 times in one day.
The only people who know of my other web site (basically a baby book online, not really a creative outlet) are my family members and close friends who care enough to read the boring kid updates. But the only people who know about Red Rollerskate are people I've not yet met, plus a few close friends. Yet, someone was visiting my family blog, and then coming to this one. And that certain someone lived in City of Mom, State. And that certain someone was also interested enough to visit 17 times in one day. And that someone had Starstream.
Each time I was awakened that night, whether by Will or by my own thoughts, I thought of what she could have (did) read. A sampling:
"Maybe it is because I still have a fucking cold that has moved down into my chest..."
"Or maybe it is xxxx and the fucking four hours of tantrums that got me in a shitty mood..."
"Why are they bringing this child? All offices are closed. The fucking freeway is closed."
"Being the mom that she is, she thought and thought and thought and then she thought some more about..."
"Boob Stress Reliever."
"Gentlemen's Willy Care Kit"
"Dolly the Inflatable Sheep"
"Spankometer"
"My parents have been here for one week, and it's been pleasant as can be. So far, no buying recommendations other than sink stopper and tub to wash dishes in because of absence of sink stopper. I'm dumbfounded. Besides the blaringly loud TV and occasional right-wing talk, I couldn't be happier. Odd."
"Orgasmitron."
[Pictures of Kuma Sutra Cards] "Married 8 years."
"ITMFA Awesome."
And this is where I want my cake and to eat it too (I hate this saying. Who doesn't want both?) I only enjoy blogging if it contains some element of naughtiness, no matter how lame. The occassional cussword kinda feels good (especially after a day of toddler talk). Venting about mom and other family members is a bit of a necessity.
Yet, I want these feelings to be 100% confidential from certain people. Knowing that my mom had read my most personal feelings made me feel sick, even though we are close. I did not like the feeling that she was saying, "oooooh, this is how she does this. Interesting." That night I dreamed that she went into her garage where I keep all my childhood stuff in a box, pulled out my Trapper Keeper, and read my 4th grade diary. And I threw up in my mouth a little.
To be continued...
I love my privacy. I have always kept journals. In periods of my life that I did not journal or blog, I wrote detailed notes (or emails, post 1997) to my girlfriends. I have always needed to talk about tiny aspects of my life in great detail, and be validated either by the talking process, or by the feedback I received. And I've always had friends who I could trust to keep my secrets, and journals that had the perfect hiding spot.
Which is why I now love to blog. Yes, I see the irony. With the potential of hundreds of perfect strangers reading it (or, er, maybe 8 if I am lucky), I should hate the blogging process, but I don't. Maybe it's because I don't currently get paid to write, which means I don't have those ocassional ego boosts ("hey, great job on that last piece.") Knowing that others are reading my blog and returning to read more, even if a month or more later, is a nice form of validation.
Yet, there are certain people who I don't want to read my blog. Like my mother-in-law, because she would hate any perceived critique of her son. Or my mom, who would disapprove of lots of things. Or mybrother-in-law, who would surely criticize many technical shortfallings. Now that I think of it, I would prefer that no family members read my blog.
Which is why I have been freaking out the last few days.
I installed Stat Counter to my blog, mostly so that I could see how long people stayed, which sites they went to next, where they came from, what search terms they used (in a nutshell: I am nosey). My freaking out came into play when I read the following:
66-23x-4x-1x8.starstream.net (Xo Communications)
State, City of Mom, United States, 17 returning visits
January 3rd 2007
12:09:40 PM
www.myotherwebsitedotcom
No referring link.
... and so on, 17 times in one day.
The only people who know of my other web site (basically a baby book online, not really a creative outlet) are my family members and close friends who care enough to read the boring kid updates. But the only people who know about Red Rollerskate are people I've not yet met, plus a few close friends. Yet, someone was visiting my family blog, and then coming to this one. And that certain someone lived in City of Mom, State. And that certain someone was also interested enough to visit 17 times in one day. And that someone had Starstream.
Each time I was awakened that night, whether by Will or by my own thoughts, I thought of what she could have (did) read. A sampling:
"Maybe it is because I still have a fucking cold that has moved down into my chest..."
"Or maybe it is xxxx and the fucking four hours of tantrums that got me in a shitty mood..."
"Why are they bringing this child? All offices are closed. The fucking freeway is closed."
"Being the mom that she is, she thought and thought and thought and then she thought some more about..."
"Boob Stress Reliever."
"Gentlemen's Willy Care Kit"
"Dolly the Inflatable Sheep"
"Spankometer"
"My parents have been here for one week, and it's been pleasant as can be. So far, no buying recommendations other than sink stopper and tub to wash dishes in because of absence of sink stopper. I'm dumbfounded. Besides the blaringly loud TV and occasional right-wing talk, I couldn't be happier. Odd."
"Orgasmitron."
[Pictures of Kuma Sutra Cards] "Married 8 years."
"ITMFA Awesome."
And this is where I want my cake and to eat it too (I hate this saying. Who doesn't want both?) I only enjoy blogging if it contains some element of naughtiness, no matter how lame. The occassional cussword kinda feels good (especially after a day of toddler talk). Venting about mom and other family members is a bit of a necessity.
Yet, I want these feelings to be 100% confidential from certain people. Knowing that my mom had read my most personal feelings made me feel sick, even though we are close. I did not like the feeling that she was saying, "oooooh, this is how she does this. Interesting." That night I dreamed that she went into her garage where I keep all my childhood stuff in a box, pulled out my Trapper Keeper, and read my 4th grade diary. And I threw up in my mouth a little.
To be continued...
posted by Andrea at 8:42 AM
3 Comments:
You are so right. And it is funny too...You make me laugh.
Thank you for inviting me into the private red rollerskate life. I am honored. I will handle it with the utmost respect. What you say here at red rollerskate, stays at red rollerskate.
I considered making mine private too...But I have met some great people (you) and I wouldn't want to miss out on that...Most of my family reads it. So I'm screwed either way. Oh well, if they can't take it they can leave.
I haven't told my parents about my blog for the same reasons you don't want your parents to read your blog. Sometimes we just need our own private space.
How would your mom have found this site though? That's what I don't get. Did you link to it from your other blog?
I don't know of too many people who don't feel the same way! I am one of them. Sometimes I regret having told various friends and family about my blog. I used to live in a small town that was clustered around other small towns.. Everyone is related and the end result is that everyone knows each ohter.
Case in point... I once dated a guy for 4 years. I broke up with him on a Saturday night at 10:30 p.m. My parents were in bed so I didn't tell them. The next day they went to 8 a.m. mass. They came home shortly after 9 a.m. and asked me about the breakup. THEY HEARD ABOUT IT FROM ONE OF THEIR FRIENDS! The guy I dated wasn't related so I have no idea how these friends found out.
There's alot of things I'd like to talk about on my blog but I know it would get back to my parents... And I don't want to embarass or hurt them. And I get enough grief from my mom worrying about what I write on my blog -- even though she's never seen it!
So I completely understand...
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