French Pressionism

When I first started maintaining this blog, I didn’t have a specific purpose for what I’d be writing. Now, more than two years later, I…. still don’t have a specific purpose.

My humble little site continues to be exactly what it was when I first started blogging: It’s a place for me to blather away about things, a place where friends far and near can keep up with my goings-on. It is a purely selfish enterprise, with no particular theme. It’s more or less an online diary.

Except it’s not. Several times in the past I’ve tried to maintain a diary, to absolutely no avail. I can’t bring myself to write unless I think I’ll have an audience.

So here I am, writing regularly for a smallish but dedicated audience, but trust me here: this blog is not a substitute for a diary. I’m not foolish enough to record my private thoughts where the whole stinking internet can see them.

This may come as a surprise, considering the frequency (and glee!) with which I discuss things of a seemingly personal nature. Even a casual perusal of this site will reveal racy bits; it doesn’t take much searching to find talk about the nature of orgasms, or my bra size.

That’d be 36F, for those of you not paying attention.

Thing is, I don’t consider my bra size to be personal. I mean it’s kind of… bleeding obvious that I’m of a chesty persuasion. It’s not much of a secret, y’know?

Now it is true that my generation is comfortable publicly discussing topics that our predecessors would have balked at:

“Dear Whole Stinking Internet: I’m a bisexual! Yep! Bi-sex-u-al! That means I’ll sleep with men or women! Here, let’s put in bold face so there’s no way you can miss it—I am a bisexual! Tra la la la la!”

Again, though, that’s not what I’d call a secret. My sexual orientation reveals nothing about my personal hopes, dreams, fears, or passions. It’s a simple observation, akin to “Goblin vomited in my shoe yesterday” (she did) or “my French press broke this morning, so I had to rush out and buy another” (thirty bucks at Target, aargh).

My own personal thoughts and feelings and emotions, though? I’m not so keen on sharing that sort of stuff with everyone. Normally this is not a problem. I can talk about library patrons, or yoga, or whatever book I’m reading.

But the patrons haven’t done anything remarkable recently. (This is a blessing: No news is good news, ja?). In yoga I did recently manage, after ten months of struggling, to stand on my head without using the wall for support—and not only that, I lowered my feet down to 90 degrees and back up again. But there’s really not much to elaborate on, there.

As for books I’m reading, well, actually I’m on another reading hiatus. I’ve got a chapter due at the end of the month, so once again I am limiting my reading exclusively to my lunch breaks. Except for the past two days I haven’t even been reading; instead, I’ve been starting dreamily off into space.

Which brings us to my present dilemma: I have a delightful piece of news—hence the staring into the ether—but I’m not really keen on detailing it here.

Just a handful of clues, then, to give you a few tantalizing hints:

• I have just plonked down the money for a plane ticket
• I’ll be gone for a week in September
• I’ll be attending a wedding
• Not my own wedding—seriously, if I were getting married, I’d go ahead and say so
• I’ll be needing my passport
• I am certain that it was not Colonel Mustard, and that the candlestick was not the instrument of death

First person to correctly interpret the clues wins a broken French press!