Sometimes I wish I were an anonymous blogger like Kate, who so beautifully tells stuff that’s going on, yet, we (at least I) have NO clue who she is.  I relate to a lot of the things she tells, as do a lot of people, I’m sure.

Yeah, I know all about Live Journal and other places one can blog stuff that either nobody or certain people can see.  I know all that.  I’ve tried that.  Something about it, is uncomfortable to me.  Don’t know why. 

Honestly, the biggest problem I have with multiple blogs is the multiple passwords.  I can barely keep up with signing in here. I like this being my place, ya know?  I mean, this here’s my little spot on the World Wide Web.  Sometimes (most times) I talk about insignifigant, boring junk, but, there are times, (like now) I wish I could get your input on some things, but, it is such, that I can’t, for a myriad of reasons.  My heart is full of stuff at the moment but it’s just not one of those things I can broadcast.  I’ve taken to carrying a little spiral notebook with me that I can jot down some of these things in as a means of something…I dont know what.  That’s helpful.  One thing I’ve learned from that intimate sort of journaling is that what we feel is not necessarily what is so cause feelings change from moment to moment.   Learning to differentiate “feeling”  from emotion.  I don’t know if that makes a lick of sense. 

One thing I can tell you here, that I don’t know that I’ve ever told here (but there are a couple people I’ve told and they seem flabbergasted) but I’ll tell you a little blogging secret about me:

I HATE the name “Sista Smiff.” 

I don’t hate the “Smiff” part.  I never had a nickname or nothing and I got that in my late 20’s and I like that ok.  But really, Smiff isn’t who I am.  That was a variation on my married name.  That’s not any sort of jab at my soon-to-be-ex husband or anything like that.  It’s not about him or anybody else.  It’s ALL about me, ya know.

Yeah, I know that was a name I gave myself when I started blogging long time ago in a spur of the moment, spontaneous, “What do I call this?” thing.  But, when somebody calls me “Sista” out in the real world?  I cringe.  I don’t know if it’s the same sorta cringe I get when I’m sung “Happy Birthday” to (I have never posted that picture but I must.  I HATE to have Happy Birthday sung to me.

  At my 5th birthday party, when it was sung to me, I hid behind a coat rack and a photo was taken of me.  Y’all would love that)  It’s almost like the cringe I got in 5th grade when I wrote this really lovely poem.  It was very spiritual and quite deep for a 10 year old, but, I cringed when it was hung in the hallway for the world to see.   I was embarrassed. 

I think it’s the same sort of cringe I used to get (not as much now) when I would recall a specific date or name of something and my family, or whoever, would marvel at my memory. 

Or in 1st grade, when I was sent to 2nd grade for Reading cause I read so well.  I was embarassed as hell by that.  Not by my 1st grade peers.  I don’t know what it was that mortified me so about it, but, I was really embarrassed.

I’ve always been embarrassed by my talents.  I’ve never quite figured out what to do with what I perceived for many years was weirdness.  I wanted to be a songwriter.  Did y’all ever know that?  I did  I dabbled in it a little, but, never got comfortable with opening up.  Same with singing.  I can sing but when I open my mouth in public (unless I’m doing a harmony part or something like that and can hide behind others) I don’t sound like I can carry a tune in a bucket. 

I’ll never forget when I was about 21, a newlywed and having a conversation with my mother in law and brother in law…both of whom are great songwriters.  I somehow let it out of the bag that I wanted to write songs and said how I’d always heard songs in my head…words, melodies….and just assumed everybody did.  I remember Hazel looking at me and saying…”No, Honey…not everybody hears songs in their head.” She went on to say how Harlan Howard used to say that songs were “floating around up there” and you had to reach up and grab them.

Why don’t I try to write songs anymore?  Cause I quit hearing them in my head and that really makes me sad.  Every now and then, a stray melody appears (happened today actually).  I quit trying because I was scared of it.  That’s so ridiculous. 

I was watching that show Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew?  (Gawsh, I love him!)  Tawny Kitaen was telling how she came by that name….Tawny.  Her real name is Julie (trivia!) but when she was 12, her parents divorced and she moved to a new school.  She saw this kid on the way to school the first day named “Tawny” and she decided that’s who she wanted to be.  They went through this whole thing about how she wanted to be somebody else and part of her addiction problem is not being herself or something.

This is another one of those rambling, meandering pontifications that I do from time to time that I have no idea why I’m telling this or where it’s going.  I can say that it is definitely taking the place of some deep, navel gazing thoughts I’m not comfortable sharing here at this point, although I wish I were. 

I guess some things we have to figure out in private.  There are things we have to figure out that’s between us and a select few in our lives or us and God.

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