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« I Am Risen | Main | Not Ready for My Closeup »

March 29, 2005

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Feeling the pain, Danny.My favorite sensation is having finished a blog. I then have up to 48 hours before I have to generate words. I find myself praying for a small, not-terribly-painful injury that can turn into 750 reasonably entertaining words. I'll stare off into space at the grocery store: Do I have feelings about jelly? Is my choice in detergent indicative of a larger pathology? Is the unexamined life A FAR BETTER OPTION?

http://qcreport.blogspot.com

I appreciate how honest you are here. For me, sometimes, just writing something down and seeing it on paper (or on a computer screen) helps me get some distance from whatever it is. I often find that in the act of writing something down, I re-live it, and then at the end am able to be rid of it, at least for a time.

This is great, Danny. When others share of themselves it gives me permission to share more of myself. Otherwise, it feels lonely to share alone ... impossible actually.

This post makes me think more about our conversation last weekend about men being able to a)figure out what they feel b)express it to someone. And how appreciative I am when you do this.

It also makes me wonder about the difference between expressing thoughts and feelings in a private journal vs. in a blog, knowing others will read it. It seems to me that in some ways both serve the same therapeutic purpose, but there are big differences, obviously. The level of vulnerability, for one. Is it the difference between being an introvert or an extrovert?

I think it's quite possible to be an introvert in life and an extrovert online. Maybe blogs are the perfect medium for such people!

Danny- as a non-blogger Gottlieb, I want you to know how much I enjoy reading yours- this one was wonderful. Glad to have another brother, and for my kids to have such a great uncle-

I'm convinced you are my evil twin. The anxieties, the neuroses--all the same. I'm actually afraid of saying too much about myself on my blog. I'm afraid I'll meet someone in my real life and they'll recognize me. So I leave out big parts of myself then feel guilty.

Blogst? Blangst?

Depression is a kind of paralysis, and I often find that moving -- exercise or, especially, wild dancing -- can break the spell. Watching other people dance brilliantly is almost as good. The other night, in the middle of my ghastly labor to clear out the old apartment, we accidentally found ourselves watching "That's Entertainment III." Afterwards, I felt so light and bubbly, like dry champagne.

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