Mollers discovered a waterfall today. A baby one. She tried to kill it, to eat it, to stop it from falling, I think. She really is a riot, barking behind the boulders where waves roll up, spread out in a bit of foam, and *poof*—gone! I’ve decided she’s trying to herd them. Good luck, Molly. Good luck.
Three other things:
1) I’m eating an entire can of tuna on my tuna melt (it was a long hike).
2) I believe my youngest son has forged my name today (seems the right age for forgery).
3) I fought the good fight, and I won. (Pacific Rim trip? Here. I. Come.)
And I’m wondering about blogs. Lately I’ve been reading a lot about what we “should” be blogging, what’s captivating, what themes we should carry out, and to what professional end.
Is this all to say that no one wants to read my diary—not even one about a dog?
Seems to me that since reality TV shows are dominating, we do want the inside view to people’s lives. We just want it crafted, spun, artful. We want the grime of nonfiction with the accessories of fiction, maybe even a Marilyn-mole of poetry.
Last night I watched Grey Gardens—good heavens did I like it: the ladies, the cats, the coons, the squalor; and Drew Barrymore—well, I thought she played the part spot on.
Anyway, the point is that I liked the decrepitude of the mansion, the 60-year-old ivy knotting over the smashed windows, the mother and daughter—seemingly mad as hatters—with their matching twin beds in a room they’ve shared together, hidden from the world, for who knows how many years.
The story beneath the story—the way they enabled each other (and all which that implies about restriction and fear), the role of a patriarchal society, the hint at the cult of true womanhood, the desire of two female artists stomped out by one or the other or the world.
Why can’t I just whine to you about my day when it’s bad? Or praise the day when I remember that the smell I’ve been trying to locate for the past month is nothing more than tether ball and summer skin, maybe a packet of bottle rockets warming in my pocket?
I know I’m going in circles here, but these days I’m wondering why we connect with other people so long before we connect with ourselves. Actually, I’m not. I realize that many of us cannot connect with ourselves, so we try to connect with others.
Hell, this week a dog is my mirror of motivation. I don’t want to let her down. I want her to feel good and have fun. Odd that I can forsake that for myself sometimes, when there are other things to be done.
So blogging. Maybe it’s supposed to be a similar type of mirror. We write because we’ve dedicated ourselves to it. Maybe more than that, we’ve promised some insanely-tiny fraction of the world that we’re going to keep speaking to them. But are we ourselves?
Panopticonically-speaking (yes, I did make that up just now), I wonder if it’s possible to really put ourselves out there anymore. Even reality TV shows have tapelines, showing the “real actors” where to stand. So you, my readers (all 2 of you), I follow your lead—weigh what you might think of what I type before I type it. You’re my tapelines, and I’m the actress?
Hmmm. Is this what we really mean by audience?
I’m rambling, but it’s all to say I want to find the right balance of connecting with myself so that I can connect with all of you in a real way. It is essential, I believe.
And it is my renewed goal with this blog.
I won’t feel silly trying to bark all the waves together, to dig toward the light.
***
8 comments:
When I first discovered blogs, I definitely looked at it as a diary, as did my friends who had them. We certainly read one anothers' blogs, but they were rarely devoted to anything other than ourselves.
As I got older, that narcissistic exhibition grew tedious. I didn't think people cared anymore about my cranky manager at work or stubbed toe than I cared about their ingrown fingernail or flat tire.
I know of people who blog "professionally" on certain topics, but it feels scripted, like reality tv. Sure, some of it is readable, and some blogs have a good cause, but in all, blogs that are around to make money or promote a professional identity seem forced. The medium is all wrong.
I see my blog as a place I've forged on the internet to have a sounding board for ideas and a place to complain when the world conspires against me. I don't expect a response on the latter, but I encourage responses on the former. When I read and write, it's more of a community building act than anything else.
Thanks, Sarah. I agree totally. I think you summed up my entire entry more/less. I think what I mean is that my future blogs (and past posts, I think, too...since it was my original intention) will be essay starters. I missed prose over the course of the past year. Anyway, my goal in an essay of any kind is to learn something about myself and hopefully connect with the world. So...yes. We're in agreement. Good stuff. Thx. :)
I've also wondered what the point of blogging is. My problem is that I don't know what the point of anything is - but it's fun, it's a way to say things to your friends that probably would never come up in the course of a normal conversation, and it's maybe a little bit narcissistic, which is appealing for those of us who like to talk about ourselves.
And, in my humble opinion, I think it's also a way to write even when not "writing" - it works the writing muscle and keeps you thinking of topics and ways of talking about them.
I agree, Elizabeth---about narcissism and exercising the writing muscle. I think I'm still really interested in this idea that we're rarely, if ever, truly ourselves anymore. We constantly consider the external world, and it's impossible that it not affect our internal. It troubles me. Like a woman who can't even dance her truest dance in the middle of her kitchen because the house has windows. If that makes any sense at all.
Yeah, it makes sense. I agree, but I don't know if I, for one, have a self that is "true."
Vietnamese Zen Buddhism, according to what I was taught, says that our "true" self is the observer of the observer of our self.
Which kind of makes sense to me, sometimes, when I'm drunk.
I read that and saw me standing with a leg bent up, a neon sign behind me, blinking "Got a little god in ya?"
Sorry.
By those lines, I could legally marry my true self, being three times removed. :)
We may need to get drunk for this, Elizabeth.
I'm waiting for Dog Diary, Entry III.
C'mon now. Get on it.
I'm working on it, MM. I've felt less inspired without Molls here. Soon. :)
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