"Oh, no, I've said too much..."

"I haven't said enough."

It's always fun to be a post inspiration. Makes me smile.

Jen writes about the sometimes shocking amount of self-disclosure bloggers engage in, myself included, in a post entitled "T.M.I." She has some really interesting things to say. You should check it out.

Even if she thought I was from the Carolinas. I wonder if that's because I cheered for the Panthers in the Supa Dupa Bowl. (No, I just don't like the Pats. It's pretty much that simple.)

But she has a point. You learn a lot more than you expect to, if you read someone's blog with any regularity. And if you're a blogger, you find yourself wanting to share a lot more than you would in a conversation over coffee. Especially if you don't know the person very well.

Like yesterday's abrupt profession of affection for someone none of you have met, which was borne really out of the intense need to tell someone. At least, without immediately being lectured about "being sensible."

That's why I sometimes call this page my virtual confessional. Because here, behind the screen, I can say what I'm thinking.

But then again, I can't. I censor myself sometimes. I've deleted entire posts because I knew that it would offend or upset certain segments of my readership (and sometimes, a single person).

Which is why I commented to Jen that the little room I let you all peer into is not reality. It's the room I've prepared for you to see. And if there's anything less than pretty in the room, it's not because it's "reality". Not completely, anyway. I show what I want to show. I'm not dishonest with you, but I'm not completely forthright either. Because if I were, that would be too much information to share with anyone.

Just now, I deleted a sentence. I pulled it back. I decided not to take this idea thread down a particular path. You can't do that in real life. You can't delete a spoken word.

I experience the same phenomenon Jen does. I sometimes feel like I know some of you pretty well. But the fact of it is, I barely know you at all. And I have to remind myself that I don't really know you, but that I am priveleged to share with you, and have you share with me, little bits of ourselves.

But what I think motivates us to pursue these shop-window friendships is that, like so many writers and readers of literature, we are fascinated by the stories of others. I ride the train, and when I do, I sometimes sit back and think, every person here has a story all their own. A story of tragedy, triumph, betrayal, love, mystery, madness. And when I bloghop (bounding from link to link like so many stepping stones across a brook), I'm in search of that story. More than that, I'm in search of commonality with other stories. Reassurance that I'm not as, well, alone, as I feel sometimes.

I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it. Thank you, one and all, for taking this journey with me. I'm glad to have met all of you, no matter how superficially we know each other. Because if we ever crossed paths out there in that wide, wild world, I would offer you my hand. And probably some coffee or something.

By the way, it makes me very happy that my humble little page is an entertaining time-waster during class. That could be my new tagline:

Perfect Blue Buildings: Entertaining Slacker Lit-Geeks and Bored Architecture Students Since 2002!