Signed sincerely, me

Yep, I'm doing it. I'm writing a post about not writing.

It's been a long time since I've written something real...on here, at least. That crap poem where I couldn't put into  words how much I felt doesn't count - a) because I couldn't put into words how much I felt, and b) because I wrote it in a notebook first. Also, I wrote a letter the other night (that made me cry because I was so overwhelmed with everything I wanted to convey), and it will be on its way to the recipient very very soon (I promise). So I have done a little writing, yes, but not like this. This is stream of consciousness, flowing straight from my fingertips, less thought-out and deliberate writing.

Why, though?

I don't really know. Maybe I haven't had time to collect thoughts about any particular subject. Maybe I've just kind of been floating along the last few weeks and haven't actually felt passionate about any particular subject. Maybe it's that I don't want to share everything with...well, everybody.

Of the three options I've just allowed myself to consider, I think it would have to be the last one that is most likely to be the cause of this writer's block(?). It's quite possible that some of the subjects about which I've wanted to write are too much to share here. It's possible that they might be looking at this post right now.

#whoops

Also for that reason, I have not been sharing nearly as much personal information as I usually do...well, anywhere. Because I don't know who's seeing this or my Tumblr or anything else, I don't want to overstep boundaries that might exist or cause awkward situations that are only going to break my heart. I'm usually so willing to share everything with everyone, and now I'm wondering why. If I put everything out there, where's the mystery? It's the mystery that makes people crazy, makes them think and analyze and crave.

Sometimes I wish I could focus on certain people and see what they do. It would make things so much easier. But then I know that I wouldn't want to use that power, for fear of not seeing what I hoped.

So basically, I think about you a lot, and all I can do is hope that you do the same. Except about me. Because you shouldn't think about yourself as much as I think about you. That's just conceited, and you're not like that.

This rambling post brought to you by the 1:30 AM version of Ali G.