The problem with writing whatever comes into your mind, and then making it public, is that sometimes an unintended audience is subjected to things they really didn't want, or need, to see.
This was sharply highlighted for me yesterday evening. My brother and I were sitting on stools up at the bar of a little dive called the Haufbrau, in Bozeman. We were chilling, I was drinking a Bushmills on ice and he was sipping a beer, and there were french fries involved. Along with excellent conversation, about many things. One of which was his experience with an extremely intuitive woman who taught him some body and energy work in the course of his massage therapy schooling. She brought up, unprompted, his father. And how his father had unintentionally stolen his voice, through sheer loudness, and how Stoph could benefit from taking his voice back and talking to his father about it.
So, I asked him to read something I'd written a year ago, about my own voice, and asked him if he related to it. It's a long read, so I handed him my phone which had my blog up, and I went to go pee. When I got back, I could see he was just finishing. But then he kept reading down, to the next entry, which had no title and wasn't clearly marked.
Which did, however, contain the words "warm, slick dick" in the first few sentences. A fact I did not realize until much later, when, after remembering Stophs strange and intense reaction of jumping and then quickly handing me back my phone blushing after finishing the entry, I went back and looked at what he might have read.
I'm torn between thinking it's HILARIOUS, and being deeply embarrassed. I laughed hysterically late that night, reading those words and imagining his absolute horror that he'd gone on too far. But oh, how I also squirmed, feeling the same sense of shame I felt the first time my mother read some of my dirty poetry and was horrified.
This was sharply highlighted for me yesterday evening. My brother and I were sitting on stools up at the bar of a little dive called the Haufbrau, in Bozeman. We were chilling, I was drinking a Bushmills on ice and he was sipping a beer, and there were french fries involved. Along with excellent conversation, about many things. One of which was his experience with an extremely intuitive woman who taught him some body and energy work in the course of his massage therapy schooling. She brought up, unprompted, his father. And how his father had unintentionally stolen his voice, through sheer loudness, and how Stoph could benefit from taking his voice back and talking to his father about it.
So, I asked him to read something I'd written a year ago, about my own voice, and asked him if he related to it. It's a long read, so I handed him my phone which had my blog up, and I went to go pee. When I got back, I could see he was just finishing. But then he kept reading down, to the next entry, which had no title and wasn't clearly marked.
Which did, however, contain the words "warm, slick dick" in the first few sentences. A fact I did not realize until much later, when, after remembering Stophs strange and intense reaction of jumping and then quickly handing me back my phone blushing after finishing the entry, I went back and looked at what he might have read.
I'm torn between thinking it's HILARIOUS, and being deeply embarrassed. I laughed hysterically late that night, reading those words and imagining his absolute horror that he'd gone on too far. But oh, how I also squirmed, feeling the same sense of shame I felt the first time my mother read some of my dirty poetry and was horrified.
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