That’s weird. Someone really likes me.

I’ve had a sudden spike in views – 31 – all from one visitor in Germany.

Maybe some of you have lots of views, and this wouldn’t be surprising to you, but I was surprised enough to shut down to private.  What was happening?

Since then, I’ve looked in a forum, and this smiling guy said (to someone else) – enjoy it while it’s happening!  Someone really likes your writing!

Well, we’ll see.

With my interest in the spheres of public and private, this is like a wake-up call – or it might be paranoia setting in.

 

No.  That happy smiling guy can say what he wants – I’m not at all sure about this.  A spike?  It is my instinct to stay well clear of spikes.

If you see any posts dotted about the place that look as though they could be mine, possibly written in German, will you let me know?

She used to goad me, this person I am thinking of.

This has to be said, sooner or later, but there are areas surrounding this that I know are there but which I can’t discuss in this place here.

I know who this person is, and I just hope I remember who I mean – no, I really do feel as though I can’t say who she is, here in public.

I know – here we are again – public/private – it really does matter to me – it’s more than you might think.  I am afraid of hurting people if I bring things into the public – it matters as a surface thing, but it matters as a deep thing also –

These people – I do like to think in terms of – after death – coming back, or going into other dimensions – even though I don’t accept religions that I come across – I’m repeating myself here but it does need to be said.

I wonder if, in the scheme of things, I’ll come across that woman again – maybe there is a limited cast that you play around with over and over – this idea has come back to me because I’ve recently read – (here we go again but I wouldn’t want to spoil anything) – a Stephen King novel that deals with that – and – oh, these ideas were all the rage in my freak (hippie) youth.

I’m telling my story, but I’m seeing what can be said straight-out and what will need to wait.

I shall continue with this story until the day I die – I know that much.

 

I’m mopping up a few loose threads here – that was from a beginning I wrote on paper, and then, in the typing, as so often happens, I thought of something else and put that there.

This is why it is difficult to write straight.

Oh – I was taught to – at school – and I keep on reminding myself not to lose that skill altogether – I might need that again at some point – some of my – but I am saying more than I would want to there – I don’t plan this out beforehand (which is what we were taught at school) and – I’m typing away (straight into this blog-space now) and – something pops into my mind – a dread, or a fear, or a warning – and – I must trust myself in that instinct or I’m lost altogether – I must take note of that, and not say what I was about to say.

I’m hoping that I’ll say it all one day – impossible, I tell myself.

I must just keep on saying as I can and in whatever way I can.

That is what I have.

I’m a writer, first and foremost.

I write every day – day in, day out.

It is a rare day wherein I do not write.

Even if I am away – for a social occasion – I have my notebook.

I have reams of writing, which I am going through – to see what is there.

I am up to ‘February 2016’ now – from the diary – and so I get close to meeting myself here.

My writing isn’t a game.  It is deadly serious.

I play games – Nintendo – when I need to come away from the writing for a while – but the writing itself . . .

What rot!  I was going to say that the writing itself is not a game but, sometimes, I play games with the writing.

I am blogging to find out precisely what I am willing to let into the public sphere, and what I want to keep private – I know that much now.

Eventually, it all may go public.

I saw a woman on the bus today with two children who had Down’s Syndrome – they were twins.

You take what life gives you.

Sometimes, you choose.