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McDonald�s Fruit �n Yogurt Parfaits are currently rocking my dietary world. This is the third day in a row that I�ve eaten one as my afternoon snack. I need to just buy some vanilla yogurt and make my own. Somehow, though, I�m not sure it will be as good.
They say that eating blueberries can help improve your memory. I�m not quite sure why that is, but it�s a nice little bonus. That, combined with the fact that the yogurt will help my seemingly ever-present UTI, has helped me justify the $2.25 I�ve spent all week for the damn things.
Last night, I was reading my nice notes from Carla and HSBF Scott and Joe and Selila (and I meant what I said�no such thing as a �lowly reader�) and Dwanollah and Kathy (yours came in as I was writing this, Kathy�I�m going to answer you when I�m done!), which meant so much to me to receive, so thank you for those, you guys! Then I was re-reading the entries as I�d posted them and thinking about having put them out there. I told Dwanollah when I answered her back that I had written them down for a couple different reasons, one, because the process of writing it down is cathartic for me, and two, because part of what I�ve learned from the Diaryland community is that no experience is entirely unique�if it�s happened to me, chances are, something similar has also happened to someone else. I learned that a thousand fold when I put the abortion story up. And sometimes, it�s nice just to know you aren�t alone in your experience.
And to answer the question I�ve been asked several times over, I�m okay. Really. Writing it all down didn�t pull me back into the depths of it.
I have to say, though, that part of me feels odd about having put it out there for anyone to read. I made a commitment to myself when I started keeping this diary that I would stay honest, that I wouldn�t censor myself in my writing. For the most part, I�ve managed to keep that commitment. But it�s strange. There are a lot of people reading these words, many of whom I don�t know (people who�ve never said hello, whose ISP�s I don�t recognize in my sitemeter, who breeze in and read an entry or two then go away again, or who follow a link and settle down and read systematically through the archives). And now you all know an awful lot about me. Things I wouldn�t tell my coworkers, or my landlady, or the cute waiter in my favorite restaurant�people I�ve known for a long time but don�t really know. Things I haven�t told my mom, whom I�m closer to than anyone else in the world. Things I haven�t even told the Boyfriend. Things I learn myself when I type them out.
That�s a strange sort of feeling.
I could be that person sitting across from you on the subway. Or behind you in line when you go to buy your morning cup of coffee. Or chatting from the next seat while we wait for the airplane to take off. And I�d have no idea. And yet, I�ve told you about my love life confusion, my grandmother�s death, the abortion, the rape, Melissa�s kidnapping and murder.
It�s easy for me to forget that I don�t know you. To let myself believe that the only people reading these words are the ones who have the URL because I gave it to them, or my Mediarama friends, or the people whose diaries I read in return, the people on my buddy list and who have linked to me. But I know that isn�t quite true.
Not that this realization is going to stop me from writing, not at all.
I guess the feeling is just the aftermath of sharing Lorne with someone else, or many someone elses. It�s not a story I�ve repeated very often.
But in the midst of all that weirdness going on in my head, I got an email from Kathy, talking about what my last two entries have made her think. And BING!�I am not alone in my experience. The Diaryland magic strikes again.
And all at once, I am okay with having shared that piece of me that up until now has been so carefully guarded. So thank you for that.
Man, y�all get a complete unloading of my thought process today.
*****
Last night, I tried to start the Supermetro, only to find that the battery was completely, irreparably, unquestionably dead.
I think this is punishment for avoiding the Grand Car Swap.
I still haven�t driven Nana�s car.
So it goes�
*****
Tonight, the Boyfriend and I are making potatoes for Easter. Mashed, mixed with sour cream and cream cheese, sprinkled with cheddar and paprika. Yummy!
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