So on and So Forth, A Very Personal Post

I will probably write more later, about more specific topics, when I don't have a Spanish final to study for and a paper to write.

I have to decide just what information, dear Internet, you will have the pleasure of reading. I have learned (key word) that many things must be handled delicately, and therefore, not posted on the online playground called the world wide web. I know that I sort of compromised my anonymity in telling people I know about this blog. In doing so, I had very little inkling of the repercussions. I didn't think people would read this blog, let alone that it would be a major character in my plotline.

Perhaps there is something to be said for anonymity, for having separated compartments of your life. This blog has bore witness to extremely significant parts of my life, and for the most part, I'm grateful that I will have a record of these carefree yet complicated musings later on down the road. However, a part of that record must also reflect how my actual life has been affected by the presence of this blog, and when that intersection has been either good or mortifying. I think it took a great amount of courage to continue to write this blog as a journal of sorts, knowing that people I know would have access to it. It took a greater amount of courage to continue to write in it, just as candidly, when that backfired. And a time or two, it did.

But I learned/decided not to apologize for what I write, because these frantic keystrokes signify my true, often uncensored feelings, which I firmly believe never require an apology. How I choose to act on them may leave something to be desired, but I am diametrically opposed to regretting something I've written if it was honestly how I felt at the time. I have seldom been afraid to publish my written work, which is why, I think, being a journalist fits me. It never dawned on me to feel apprehensive about people reading my writing, and I hope that it never does. However, I sometimes forget that sports fans reading my opinion about the NBA dress code is different than a guy I like stumbling across my feelings for him.

Is that where I censor myself, though? Is this when I tell no one but strangers about my blog? Who knows. But to worry about who's reading what would interrupt the purpose of this blog, which is to catalog my experiences in my own voice, in a private space for the world to see. Ironic, right? I have written many a post with tear-filled eyes, with shaking hands, or while bubbling with laughter. Nothing but pure, unadulterated manifestations of whatever chaos was going on in my head. That kind of purity, to me, is beautiful. It's a freedom that I can't promise to compromise depending on who reads what I've written.

The truth isn't always pretty. My truths rarely are. But they're mine. They're real. I'm offering you a glimpse into what can't always be shown, an attempt to understand parts of me that sometimes even I can't decipher. Which means that I fuck up sometimes. I play life by ear. I can be a mess sometimes, and I know it. So if there's something crazy in a post, take it with a grain of salt. Remember that this is my area to be, generally, a little delusional. My blank canvas. The first nasty step in untangling whatever mess I've gotten myself into. So don't fret, dear hearts. Just keep reading. With the help of things like this blog and those who I can really count on, I'll figure it out. I always do.

~Lucky