I have a blogging problem.
It’s not that I blog too much. There are no limits that I’m aware of, and blogging doesn’t cause lung cancer, or make you stupid and violent, or rot your teeth.
I have a problem because my posts never come out quite the way I intended them to. I sit down with a theme in my head. Sometimes I even have a conclusion ready to reach. I actually often compose entire posts in my head while cooking or showering or standing on the bus. But when typing time arrives, it all comes out different.
It’s like my id wrests control of my fingers from my super-ego and all hell breaks loose. It’s like a person who really ought to be lying on a therapist’s couch spilling her psychological woes, a person who has thus far failed to acquire said therapist, is using her blog friends as therapists instead.
I know…I’m not the only one who does this. Does anyone *not* need a therapist?
Sometimes after I’ve spilled my psyche all over WordPress, I worry that I’ve said too much. There are people I know in real life reading this blog. Some things they don’t need to know. Some things they will think are about them, but they’re not. Other things they will think are not about them, but they are. I try to speak in universal terms. It’s safer to be the royal we.
I wonder if starting therapy would cause me to quit blogging. How much psyche can one person spill every week? Or maybe I would just go back to bragging about my kids or spouting my lengthy political rants. Maybe everyone would be relieved if I kept my psyche between myself and my theoretical therapist.
I’m going to stop now, not because I’m done but because I need to exit this coffee shop and go to work. That’s how reality interacts with psyche sometimes.
How much do you people charge, anyway? Will you bill my insurance?