Guilt

Am I entitled to a personal space? I mean figuratively.

This blog is thusfar (is that really a word???--it sounds okay when you say it but it looks like a Turkish curse word when you type it) completely private, but I'm considering letting a trusted person take a peek.

It's really important to me to be honest to people, but I gotta be me as well. I remember letting Ms. Webb read my personal poems when I was a Junior in HS. She read all of them and then smiled at me. Three months later, she was talking to the class and slyly mentioned "When I was in High School, I would have probably gone out with (me!)..." No, this was not a pediphilia case in the making--she was older and was sincerely paying me a compliment. Why oh why did I burn all those poems? I remember the charred paper flaking off the metal spiral and thinking about the guy from Raider's who grabs the medallion and burns it into his skin. It felt like unfaithfulness to have those memories readily available and to read them and still love the girls they were written about in a puppy-like, sophomoric way. Not real love which is forged with fire and incidental pain.

Oh, those poems sucked though!

Maybe I burned them because I feared that they would attract a horde of middle-aged doughy chicks.

Bringing me back to--is it okay to have thoughts recorded and not have 100% full disclosure to the one from whom I withhold nothing? Someone told me: "You know, you can reveal A-X, maybe you don't have to reveal A-Z about what you are thinking..." Not that I really care, but just because I put my stuff out there for scrutiny am I a bad guy for thinking such things? No--I'm just dealing with it honestly while the rest of you punk-asses shuffle through this deal like zombies(okay, I don't mean you personally--oh, you know what I mean, but why did I say "zombies"--is there something more clever that fits?).

Maybe this holds me back from writing--I don't want the scrutiny. I really don't want to be mocked, and this is my secret fear, as it was with my poems. I don't want someone to say, though, when this all comes to an end "Yeah, you blame me for not writing--that was your decision--if it was important enough to you, you would have just done it anyway".

An unrealized yet dreaded Scene:

Me walking down the hall, past the teacher's lounge. Overhearing: "and then he said he wanted to caress her satin hair and count her tiny freckles like they were stars against the chilled raven sky!" Burst of uproarious laughter. Keeling over dead from humiliation.

I swear I'm not blaming my lack of motivation to write on someone else's real actions--just my fear of their actions (okay, maybe it's based on me knowing her). Still--it's my prerogative (looks like too many r's here)to get over it and go...

A bulletin from my job: "You could be a type A personality if you have vague feelings of guilt when you are away from work".

Am I a type A husband? Father?