xxtinkerbellxx

I'm cheating on myself. I have a regular ole analog journal I write it and I've been confused as to why I maintain both a blog and a journal. Then, I had my journal read behind my back and I realized the appeal of blogs. Blogs are self-admissions that are 'safe,' that you honestly wouldn't mind people reading. Yeah, I do this with a certain amount of anonymity but anyone who knows me would know this is my blog. BUT nothing I've said in this little corner of the universe of dangerous knowledge or shameful truths. My journal, on the other hand, takes names and kicks my own ass because of all the horrible bits of myself that a record in an attempt to...I don't know. I don't know why I write in my journal. It is pathetic, embarrassing, and hopeful all at once. All it does is provide proof as to how little I know even myself and how crazy life is and always will be. Blogs are dessert, journals are doctor-prescribed diets. Blogs are little 'bites' of myself that I'd share with anyone; my journal is a closet stuffed with skeletons that I hate to acknowledge. It is so perverse that the blog remains unread but my journal is a rape victim. Why put on a show if the audience is committed to strangling shameful real life out of you?