I Blog, Therefore I Am.

Photo credit - *Burgergirl, New York City

I've been shouted at  asked by quite a few people lately, to tone down my blog.

I don't think I will. I don't think I CAN.

More and more people IRL are finding out about it. It's very odd.

The REAL story at the end of my job interview? When we were about to leave the meeting room office, my new wonderful art director boss David says to me: "So ...... Edenland!"

Worlds colliding, I thought what the hell? Scanning my strangely written resume to see if I had written it on there. My head felt like a blizzard inside a snow globe. I went all dumb and said, "Whaa----??"

He told me that Lyma told him. Of course. We met back in the nineties, she is one of my dearest friends and put my name up for the job. A few months ago she rang me: "You never told me you had a blog!"

I used to never tell ANYBODY I had a blog.

And now I do and I kind of let it all hang out anyway, and I pretend that nobody reads it. My motto is: Post And Run. Last week I sat down to go through all of my archives and take down all of my offensive posts. There were a lot of offensive posts. I think. I'm not sure, so I just gave up.

I don't want to read what I wrote this time last year. It makes me cringe. So it stays up ... everything I have ever written I stand by. Yes it's way too much information - yes blogs are strange, yes it makes you question your privacy values.

But I love it so much, it's under my skin. Why do I blog? For me there is an ever-changing answer to that. Today it is because I can't not.

If I didn't have children I would even blog more openly than I do. I have to be mindful that anything I say about myself, they may one day learn. Not that I'm ashamed of who I am. I used to hide everything and it almost killed me. My issues and the crap I've overcome have made me better. The world is more open to me than ever before ... and I'm pretty sure blogging has something to do with it.

Bono once said, "I wish I could teach the world to sing." Well, I wish I could teach the world to blog. It gives you a sense of introspection - what do I have to say? What do I think?

I still haven't written my BlogHer 10 recap yet, so amazing were the women I met that it's hard to put into words.

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I asked my new wonderful art director boss David if he's heard the term "mummyblogging" yet. He said no. I said, "You will." And I said I was kind of like a mummyblogger. Just a dark and twisted one. And he laughed and asked me what my last name was, with his pen poised. At that point, I knew that as soon as I walked out of that office, I was going to have to call my sister and tell her to remove all traces of Edenland from the internet STAT.

Because I really wanted this fricken job. I was polished and creative, remember? Then we walked out to the other people, and one of the girls there said hi and told me she felt like she knew me because she reads my blog. And I started to fan my face really hard. She said she loved that post I wrote about Damien. And we laughed and my voice faltered when I saw the others looking at me expectantly and I said, "Oh, that was just a post I wrote comparing my two-year old to the antichrist."

I think they may have laughed but I was too busy getting swallowed by the floor.

I eventually said goodbye to all the nice, normal people.

And walked off and realised that the juice from the fruit salad in my handbag had almost drowned my iPhone. Except it didn't. Then I thought, those nice normal people are probably not even normal at all. Nobody is! We all just pretend, remember! It's just that I choose to write about my non-normalness on the internet. For free. You're welcome!

So. The ruby shoes are on, and there they'll stay.

Blog on, lovers.

Blog. The fuck. On.

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* Burgergirl is me - and I still have the arm flab to prove it.

David? Let's pretend this whole thing never happened. Ok thanks.

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Question: Why do YOU blog? Would you care if people found out? Have you ever let a fruit salad go warm inside your handbag for two hours? If so, did you then eat it manically in the carpark using your fingernails like sporks? Except all the dodgy rockmelon at the bottom?