Like a diary

When I was growing up, the idea of someone being able to read my diary was the most terrifying prospect in the world. It seems a little strange to me, now, that I can put my thoughts and feelings in a place where the entire world can see it. I just hope Gordon never Googles me. Or my children, for that matter, though I think they’re more interested in their video games and Facebook to look up details about their mother.

I’ve been thinking more and more about this blog – maybe I should take it down. I sorely doubt anyone reads this, but the idea of it being found by my family is causing me undue stress. I haven’t experienced this kind of anxiety since we lived with Gordon’s parents, just after we got married. With him in school, I didn’t have very much else to do but to help his mother with the housework, and all the time I had to myself, I used to write my thoughts and dreams into a journal.

Of course, one day it fell into my mother-in-law’s hands when she was tidying. I had never been so embarrassed in all my life. She still teases me about it, to this day. Imagine how much worse it would be, if Gordon were to find it?

At the same time, having this account is a bit of a safety net. It’s nice to have something to do when I’ve reached that point where I just can’t wander around the house anymore, waiting to hear what Gordon’s plans are for the night and counting down the minutes until 4:00 pm. I honestly can’t say for sure whether I look forward to the time the kids get home, or if it just makes me feel all the more exhausted.