I interrupt this series

I’m writing a lot lately. Posts that I love. But I can’t make myself copy and paste them into blogger. It’s kind of like when you’re little, and you have this amazing new toy – one you never, never, never thought you’d get. But if you were to picture this gift, say if someone told you to make a wish and think of the coolest toy you could, and you dreamed of something, then it appeared, what you have in front of you would somehow be even more amazing than you thought.

So you marvel over it, think about it, and it makes you really happy. Because it’s new. And shiny. And ever so pretty. So maybe I would have drawn a picture of my toy (which would have been awful, because my drawing skills, even then, were not so good) or write a little story about how much I like it. I guarded those things, much as I would protect my newfound gift. As happy as they make me, I hunch over them protectively when people walk by, frowning in warning that they should leave me alone. Because it's mine.

It’s not that I thought someone would take anything away from me. I was, after all, extremely spoiled as a child, and there would be hell to pay if you took something I liked. Much of my childhood, in fact, was spent telling on Brother when he'd borrow any of my belongings. Especially since Brother's definition of borrow looked a lot like how I'd define the word break.
It's not that I think someone's trying to ruin my gift, but there's a certain pleasure in having it, and the discussion of it, be all mine.

So as I tuck little pieces of thought into a special folder, I’m just letting it be, completely pleased in the knowledge that the thoughts are recorded and I'll remember how I felt. Somehow it’s too precious and new to discuss here in even the most complimentary terms.

But I’ve not done this before. Tucked away posts I really like, that I’ve polished and considered and really worked at. Because telling people about stuff – good or bad or in between – somehow makes it rest more easily in my mind. Knowing that someone attempts to understand a little of how I feel is tremendously comforting, and I’ve become more and more eager to put things out here, then to sit back and wait to see what happens.

Normally, when I don’t let you read something, it’s because it’s pretty bad. Written poorly, thoughts half-formed, not really going anywhere. Crap, really.

The other thing is that I want to make some sort of decision about this little folder of documents, and then stick with it. Writing is irresistible to me at this point, and not putting thoughts on screen is like telling myself not to think them at all. But I hate it when bloggers get all cryptic and you wonder if they’re talking to someone in particular.

“How pretentious are you going to be today?” I ask, somewhat unkindly, when I open their posts and realize the writer isn’t going to give me enough information to get it – whatever it happens to be. It’s irritating, and I pride myself on not doing it often. At least on purpose. If I know what I’m trying to say, I’ll just tell you. Sometimes I don't, and I can only shrug and say I've given you all I know.

So why bring it up? You may be asking. If you don’t want to share your thoughts, then how about you just don’t.

To which I’d reply sheepishly, good point.

But I like to post regularly, continue the flow in my own head as well as for you if you’re attempting to follow along.

I find myself looking around today and discovering that I’ve written this series all out of order, and much of it isn’t ready. The post that comes next, in fact, isn’t even started. So from my distraction of fluttering around my new gift, I’m looking up and thinking, Oh. I can’t post this stuff because it’s too personal or important. Then there’s this crap. Nobody needs to see that.

So the post that comes next is coming, as are responses to Dyden’s last comment. That date, Fred in general, was kind of important and much of what happens next hinges upon figuring out how I thought about him and what he might represent. So I hope you thought it was funny – it was meant to be – but I was completely thrilled that you felt for him too. So I want to play around with that a bit. The book Fred gave me at his apartment actually is really important, so I was, as always, gleeful that Dryden asked about something that I had intended to address.

Plus, I post in the evenings. This morning thing has me all mixed up. So tomorrow – back to nighttime updates. And if you’re hating this dating series, which gives me momentary worry, I’ll work through it quickly. It should all be over by the weekend, I think.