audience drama — more stage metaphor

Yesterday it came to my attention that someone I don’t know very well has read my blog. Someone I wrote about in a not very flattering way, actually. (And no, it’s not George Bush.)

It was a very interestingly timed revelation, considering my last post.

Even before this information came to my attention, I was planning a followup post to the one I made yesterday. I suppose it was going to be a post about audience.

I have never really addressed the question of who this blog is written for. (or if I have, it wasn’t definitive, and/or I can’t remember it). I suppose, when I write, I imagine an audience of random strangers, while at the same time acknowledging that some of my friends read it, and no doubt more of them will in the future.

Here is the crux of what I had planned to write: Someday, my mom will read this.

I do not write this blog for my mom. But I know, someday, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, my mom will come upon this blog. I have known this since perhaps the beginning, although it is more certain now that I host it on livingtech.net (and not blogspot, where this blog had its humble beginnings). Anyway, Hi mom!.

Now, those of you who know me well (and or know my mom) should know that my mom reading this would not really affect what I write all that much. Maybe a little bit less about sex with Laura, and threesomes, but well… she can handle it. She’s a MOM, after all.

But all this begs a question: “If you know your mom will eventually read it, why don’t you just tell her about it? I mean, she’d probably love to read it!” And it’s true, my mom would love to know that she can read my journal, online, updated almost every day. She would, no doubt, be my biggest fan.

But I want to prolong that day as long as possible.

Mom, I hope that doesn’t upset you.

There have even been times when I felt guilty about NOT telling my mom about my blog. Not often, but more than once. Especially when I feel particularly close to the blog, and that blogging is a big part of my life. My mom should know about these things!

But she doesn’t. And good thing, because I want to talk about subjects like french kissing a friend of ours on new year’s eve while her husband was downstairs and Laura was standing behind me, eagerly looking on! That’s good stuff!

But there’s always that voice in the back of my head, repeating, someday my mom will read this. Someday.

OK, so I got through that. Obviously, this is a personal blog. I write about things that are exciting to me — things that strike my fancy — and usually those things are aspects of my life.

Finding out that O read my blog, or at least the relevant entry was not particularly disturbing, or frustrating. (There, I’ve said/linked it, and particularly thorough readers, or readers with photographic memories, will now know who I’m talking about.) It was maybe a bit startling, but, well, this thing is on the internet. Google is one of my most frequent visitors. And now O knows that a) I think he’s not a particularly nice guy, and b) I liked his CD so much that I raved about it on the internet. Big deal. I don’t dislike O, and I’ve never really felt that he disliked me. I had kind of assumed, actually, that he acts that way toward everyone. An assumption that was perhaps not apparent from my initial post.

The point, one of them, is that this stuff is all the truth as I see it. My blog, for the moment at least, is entirely non-fiction, (poetic license aside) and I am not ashamed of anything — more because of lack of shame on my part than lack of things to be shameful for. I’ve always said, “no regrets”, and I have none. Nuff said.