I've always tried to make this blog uplifting and positive - tried not to over dramatize or be inappropriately introspective. November weekends have been filled with a trip to Chicago to see Patrick, a "Campo 02" reunion here in DC with Liz, Ali, V, and Dill, and Ben and Leila's wedding. All fun, all worthy of separate posts detailing the happenings.
I'm feeling that recounting how great something was - while real and true - feels fake. Or at least disingenuous.
And in the same vein, I don't want to post about what is really going on. It's too personal, too much to know that it's all out there for anyone to read. It's not that I'm ashamed or unwilling to discuss these things, but to have no control over who is reading it and when requires more of a comfort level than I'm ready for. Too much vulnerability.
So I'm not really sure when I'll be blogging again. I'm not sure when it will feel okay to write about the good things and not feel like an impostor who is not lending equal time to the unspeakable. I hate duplicity. And right now that is what blogging feels like.
Please be patient with me. I like having a chronicle, but perhaps my inability to write - my silence - speaks loudest about this time in my life.
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