Since my last post, I have been beleaguered (via Facebook) by some armchair psychoanalysis from a hen keeper in West Yorkshire:
On one hand, I’m impressed I am able to portray such a complete image of myself through my blog. What I write here is personal, but it’s only part of the picture. The “real deal” stuff I hold like a poker hand: close to my chest, for few to see.
On the other hand, I am frustratsed: (1) With the presumptuous-ness of some people (e.g. the way we talk about celebrities like we know them personally; or how I am constantly defending my close personal friend Tom Cruise to other people). (2) How did I get so tangled up in this mess of self-imposed rules? Where does this complicated music-industry-world-view stem from? Am I on my way to shattering in all? I must, at least, be capable of that.
So many questions, most of which I don’t care to have direct answers for.
My moment of zen, in this instance, comes (also via Facebook) from one of my oldest acquaintances, one of those people in your life you have known for decades, and who you may not see for decades, but you know you will always be friends:
I “liked” that one.
So I thank you all for your kind words, your encouragement, your criticism. While I wish I was one of those people who didn’t “read their own reviews,” I am sadly one of those people who is incapable of living an ostrich-inspired life.