The One Thing I Won’t Write About
Every writer has that one (or more) thing they won’t write about. Even the ones like me who talk about anal sex and colonics have to draw the line somewhere. The funny thing about sex writing or talking about something like poop is that it doesn’t strike me as very intimate. It’s stuff that everyone does. Everyone defecates and everyone has sex. So what’s the big deal in writing about it? I don’t think it’s particularly revealing. It’s something we all go through, it’s talking about the human experience.
Other less obvious things, however, strike me as very personal. In the past year, I’ve been dealing with something that I won’t write about. Other people have. If you look at my topics, you might think this one thing is tame by comparison, but to me it crosses the line. It opens me too much, reveals a side of myself that I’m not ready and willing to share.
The ironic thing about bloggers who write about personal things is that they’re usually shy or prudish in real life. They might not sleep with a lot of people, do a lot of drugs, or even change in the locker room at a gym. But they choose to fixate on just that one aspect of their life, thus making it seem larger than it really is. It’s an outlet. Just like you feel comfortable talking about personal problems on the internet, so do bloggers. We say things we wouldn’t ordinarily say in mixed company. Even though we’re not anonymous, we feel like we are in the moment.
I guess the weirdest part about being someone who makes money off of talking about their life is that people think they know who you are. And to a certain extent, maybe they do. But with every type of performer, it’s sort of like one aspect of someone’s personality being blown up. It’s the Beyonce/Sasha Fierce dilemma. In reality, there are actually a lot of things that are off-limits in my writing. Right now, I’m finding it hard to write about anything because I’m going through stuff that is TOO REAL FOR THE INTERNET. Imagine that, right? Something I can’t even post about?! Dear god, what could it be?! But it’s okay when this happens. It makes me remember that I live a life that isn’t always meant for public consumption. As a writer, you have to keep some things private. Otherwise, everything feels cheap.
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Nobody actually expects you to act like an adult for a while.
“What are you going to do with an English degree?”
I’m finding it hard to muster any sympathy for this asthmatic leatherneck. Instead, there is only contempt.
He noted that during trial, the women (we made up three out of the four mockers) mumbled to ourselves in between questioning witnesses.