What's your media?

Singers have their lyrics and melodies, painters have their colors and shadows, writers have their descriptive phrases and idioms. Even if you aren't one of the few who have officially declared themselves a writer, or a singer, or an artist, we still all have a media in which we feel most comfortable expressing ourselves. Some people are great speakers, they can force a room into silence, or laughter, or tears just by putting together a string of words. They can evoke great sadness, or happiness, just by the tone of their voice. Other's express themselves through the various art forms: photography, painting, sculpture. Creating physical manifestations of their emotions, of their stories, of their lives. Others write. I write. I don't pretend to be a great writer, or even a good one for that matter. I have my moments, we all do in whatever media we choose to express ourselves. But it doesn't matter if I'm not a great writer, or even a good one most of the time. Because I write for myself. I write to express my ideas, to get them out of my head and to create something from those vague ideas floating around in the matterless void known as my brain. Even if I'm just creating a string of letters that mean nothing to anyone but me, they are still my words, my thoughts, my feelings and ideas. I've never been a talker. Ask anyone who knows me, especially those who know me best. I talk, but I've never been a big talker. I talk when I have something to say, otherwise I tend to think things through, work out situations, create my dreams and destroy my fears, within the safety of my inner thoughts. Few know it, but I've written for years. Again, nothing important, nothing noteworthy, but I wrote poems, I wrote stories, I just wrote. Most if it I didn't save, because I got it out and found I didn't need it anymore. Some I saved; some I held onto because I still found it important to my life, my world, my desires and my emotions. I still write (I know, I know, not as much as I should, or could) thanks to this crazy modern invention called a blog. I love it. Because, somewhat ironically, as much as I love to write, I hate actually having to write. I hated sitting down with a journal and putting the pen to the paper. I would write a few sentences and then my thoughts would get so far ahead of the words flowing out on my paper that I would give up. Leaving my words trailing off into nothingness. Trailing off into the thoughts that remained within. But, typing is a whole other story. For once I can actually 'write' and think at almost the same pace.

It was a hard thing for me to start sharing the details of my life on my blog. Not because I was embarrassed, or ashamed, or anything. It was because I didn't share the details of my life with anyone like I did on the blog. Daily updates on my thoughts or my happenings were never a part of my daily life. Most my friends probably know more about the daily happenings of my life now that they read my blog than they every have before. The reason for this isn't because I wanted to keep those details for them, but because I felt more comfortable sharing them, expressing them through the written word, than through the spoken one. I'm not sure why, it's just how I work. When I started this whole dating adventure (that really started months ago with my attempt to ask out the Dog Park Guy) I didn't discuss this with anyone really, except Shannon, and that's only because she had read my blog and then would quiz me about it in person. But I'm sure if you ask her, she would say I was sparse with the details at first. I still am. I actually seriously considered not writing about any of my man-ventures because I realised at that time, I hadn't actually told any of my friends about it. How could I write about something so dramatic, so important, in my life when I couldn't even tell my friends about it? Because I felt comfortable doing it. The words just flowed. The words never seem to flow when I'm talking; I always feel awkward and half of the time on the verge of tears because my mind is working overtime, trying to express itself and process what it's taking in.

I've had a few people, friends, point out lately that I won't tell them about things in person but I'll write about them on my blog. I was driving home from a weekend with friends on Saturday and Memphis and I were exchanging dirty text messages back and forth. For close to an hour. My friends knew who I was texting with. They knew the just of the messages. And they wanted the details. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't look them straight in the eye and tell them I just got a text message telling me that he want to bend me over a coffee table and pull my hair. But see, I have no problem telling you now. When I was worried I was getting fired, I was scared shitless of having to meet with my boss until Shannon recommended that maybe I email her beforehand to let her know what I was thinking. It was the best thing I ever did. I got a chance to lay my thoughts out and re-read them and make sure that I was saying what I actually meant to say. That being said, now that people have mentioned that I have a hard time telling them things in person, but not on my blog or in an email, I feel as though I am trapped. I enjoy writing. I enjoy sharing. But now I feel that if I do that, some people in my life will think that I'm NOT sharing with them but sharing with complete strangers. I feel like I am going to hurt their feelings because I want to share things in a media I feel comfortable working with, but not necessarily in the media they want me to share in. I'm not entirely sure where this post was supposed to go.