Yes, I know I should be in bed. This evening was a wash. I’m not sure what happened. I had detailed plans, a schedule, an agenda, and it all went to shit. I ended up playing 2½ games of Civilization Revolution on 360 instead of producing the Zen podcast and fixing my blog and exercising.
One interesting result of more people reading my blog, via Facebook or LJ whatever, is that I’m more careful about what I post. I mean, I’ve always tried to be careful when posting about other people, or about co-workers in particular — this is the internet, after all, and who knows where a post about a named individual could end up. The internet is a big place, and everybody knows somebody.
Anyway, that’s not the problem so much as is my new-found inhibition with blogging about myself. Used to be, I used my blog as a surrogate for my written journal of ages past. Detailing stuff that happened over the course of the day, talking through my mental bullshit, complaining about other people (albeit anonymously), complaining about myself.
But now… as the years have passed, I find that I’d rather not put all of this out on display. This is no longer just a communication between myself and a dozen friends from college. Now, my co-workers could potentially read it. The sangha (my Zen buddies) could read it. A future employer could read it.
Not that there’s anything I need to say that’s earth-shattering. It’s just that I’m less inclined to indulge in a giant pity party over nothing when I know that the normals are following along.
I just wish I could shake this funk. I don’t want to feel all blah like this, but I can’t seem to find the motivation to even locate my bootstraps, much less pull myself up by them.
Not fishing. Just thinking.