There’s a reasonable amount of over sharing that comes with a blog. The fact that you have one in the first place suggests that you’re not the type of person to hide the inner workings of your private world. And for lots of people who consider themselves writers, they kind of fall into that ‘melancholic’ personality type that is kind of introspective and emotional.
Or maybe not.
Anyway, as a blogger/writer/internet over-sharer, I’ve always been more comfortable giving words to my thoughts and publishing them online, as opposed to having actual conversations with in life human beings. I’ve pretty much held the mantra for the last three years, that if you want to know how Jess is, you should just read her blog. Simple as that.
Plus I will use a lot less words, which seems impossible I know, but it’s true. 😉
As a general rule, my over sharing his been more or less confined to the inter webs, or boatman.
A funny thing has happened since we’ve moved to Port Lincoln.
Not having any real friends that I feel I can text on a regular basis to catch up with (there’s a couple of potentials but I’m trying to play it cool so I don’t come over all stalker like), I’ve become an in-life over sharer.
In a big way.
Possibly more than an internet over sharer, which is a rather terrifying turn of events.
In fact, I’m fairly certain that I’m just shy of becoming the kind of person that people may soon start to avoid in public.
Take the other day for instance. It was a good day, in that I got to talk to people! Actual real life people about things that grown ups talk about.
Sadly the conversations were pretty one-sided.
There was one lady who I bumped into in Coles and quite possibly offended when my enthusiastic observation of the weather possibly sounded derogatory. ‘Yes it’s hot in Darwin but this time of year they having awesome storms and rain, and that’s great. Whereas this out here isn’t rain at all. I feel like saying ‘try harder!'”
Probably not the smartest thing to say.
Then there was another lady I bumped into in Coles who after saying she just wanted to get in and get out, I proceeded to bail up by giving her the run down on Boatman’s birthday and the cake I was going to make for him, and the ingredients involved.
On my defence the conversation started because I was asking if she knew where the mascarpone cheese was. (I also had a similar conversation with a shelf filler in Coles. Whom I had never met. It’s a sickness I tell you.)
Then there was the afternoon of parent teacher interviews. 45 minutes of dedicated adult conversation just for me!
After giving the kids a stern warning that the only reason I be interrupted is because someone is bleeding, I sat down and listened to teachers tell me of the wonderful redeeming qualities of my offspring.
It was quite the high.
Except it went too high.
Because afterwards, when the middle school principle asked me how we were settling in, I, drunk on the accolades of school officials, and the wonder of adult conversation, proceeded to explain that we were settling in fine, but it does have its challenges, and that it had really only hit me in the last week and I was struggling a bit, but that’s ok cause God is in control. (It ‘s a Christian school so it’s not weird to say that). And then after that, I felt the need to explain the circumstances of our move and the perils of Bing Bong, and then after that, mention all the mutual people we have in common. ( I’d say friends but lets not stretch things.) I mean I may as well have handed him a business card and asked him to read my blog, I spoke that much.
The business card probably would have been a better idea.
The worst thing is, I can see myself doing it, but I can’t stop! It’s like I’m suspended in a little bubble watching it all happen, and yet I have no power to change anything. I just keep running off at the mouth like a crazy woman who has to get her daily quota of words out to anyone who might listen.
I fear, that I have become a crazy, over sharing really life version of internet Jess, who after the smallest amount of actual conversation, walks around looking like this.
Yes, even I am scared.
The worst bit comes the next day. Not only am I slightly embarrassed with myself as I pour out all the words to pretty much random strangers, but the next day I’m, so ashamed, I feel as if I need to hide in the corner. It’s like waking up with a terrible hangover, thinking ‘what did I do last night?’ Except I can remember everything, and I don’t even have alcohol to blame!
I’ve decided I really only have a few choices:
I can keep going as I am, and hope that someone takes pity on the overly chatty girl.
Or I can become that person that everyone avoids and steps sideways when they see.
Or I can go visit an old persons home and chat to some lonely old people who have no one come and visit them.
Or I can just stop stressing and trust that it’s probably not as bad as I think, and try to save all my over-sharing for this very sad, neglected blog of mine.