One of the things about blogging, at least blogging how I do, is that I imagine I’m holding court at one of the world’s most interesting bars. Regulars stop by. We have good discussions. We feel like we know each other.
And yet, I know there are ways in which I’m like “Here are all the wonderful open rooms you’re going to regularly visit” just so that I can keep certain rooms closed off, just never mention them, or, like, in the case of “Frank” or “The Witch’s Friend” mention them but tease you with waiting.
But then, some doors are closed just because they’re not my doors to open, you know? It’s happening in my world, but it’s not something it’s my business to be the host of.
In ways, this has been a week of closed doors. At least “Frank” will eventually open and y’all will see why I’m so thrilled and excited. But those other doors stay shut, even if what’s behind them weighs on my mind.
Why even bring it up, then? I’m not sure. Just, I guess, to say that it’s a weird part of this particular medium. People criticize it because folks share what they had for breakfast or, in my case, how my walks with the dog go. It does seem like the levels of sharing you can do are boundless.
And yet, here is a boundary. It feels right to mark it, you know. And make some gesture to the folks on the other side of it, who are in my thoughts.