Absence makes the heart grow….

Or, it can lead to numbness.  Pretty much opposite ends of the spectrum, I know.

So, here I am, at another crossroads.  Been here before, but each time, I’m a bit changed and rearranged.  I mean, let’s be honest, I’m not the same person I was yesterday, or a year ago.

This blog started out as an anonymous place for me to spout off about sex and share the writing I otherwise could not with my name attached.  The world in which I live would not allow it or accept it.

And, in all seriousness, I like my world.  And I don’t want to fuck it up.  It’s sad, really that people can’t be honest.  That we have to censor ourselves to be accepted and to avoid hurting others.

I’ve been off the radar for about month.  Partially because I just had nothing to say.  Partially because I was tired of “talking” and just needed to retreat.  I do that from time to time.  I suppose it’s necessary to regroup and reconnect with ones self.

What I’ve found in my head, after weeks of ignoring and then days of scrounging is this:  I’m not sure where I want to go with this.  I love to write.  I love sex.  But, my audience is quiet.  And, oddly, expanding.  I know I have readers, but few of you comment, and honestly, it has a lot to do with why I do or don’t write.

When I first stated this blog, no one read it but me.  I wrote for myself, with a tiny speck of hope and interest in someone else stumbling upon my words.  It was more like walking around without any underwear – I was the only one who knew, but the possibility of someone else finding out was a little enticing.

Soon after I started, I told my husband…we talk about everything and are very open with each other, but, I can’t lie…it did color what I did and didn’t write.  I wrote for myself still, but in the back of my mind, I now knew I had a reader…not one who judged….but one who knew me.

Now, years later…I have offered up parts of myself, secrets, inside information…and I have stopped just writing for myself.   I have anonymous readers and readers whom I have spoken with, touched, had sex with….

And that changes what I can and can’t say.  Suddenly, I find myself in a predicament.  This place that I initially created as a refuge of truth now has become yet another place where I must censor myself.

I hate that.

And so I stopped.

Now I have to decide how to continue.  Does the site become a place now just for literary reviews, erotica and photos only.  Have I stamped out my freedom to share personal information?  Because let’s be serious about it, how likely am I to share, complain, compare, or investigate events or relationships with people who may be reading about it later?  Not likely.

It’s a shame really.  Disappointing.  But, it’s reality.

Give me some time.  I’ll try to figure it out.

And thanks for your patience, if you’re reading.