Linzi doesn't know I've got a blog. I haven't consciously been keeping it from her, but neither have I volunteered the fact that I've been using this corner of cyberspace to vent and rant and talk about us.
Now I feel weird about it, and I'm trying to figure out why. I haven't written anything she'd be particularly surprised about.
When we first met, I used to write. A lot. I used to be much better than I am now. There's no doubt about it, if you don't practice, you get rusty. It's not like riding a bike. I've spent the past five years working with and on terse technical documents, which has left very little room for adjectives and metaphors and pathetic fallacy.
Linzi is continually on at me to get back to it. She's convinced that I could be really good. Her confidence in me frightens me.
I'm afraid that if I tell her about it, she will see this blog as the first step to me starting again. And it isn't.
Writing this actually helped me figure that out. Ker-azy.
Edit: What's even more frightening is the possibility that I am like one of those deluded buckos from American Idol - you know, the ones with a comically tenuous grasp on reality, their confidence bolstered by family members who're equally blinkered to their obvious inadequacies, to the point where you think they may be slightly brain-damaged - who thinks they're good because a few close friends and family have given them words of praise, then BOOM! Simon Cowell comes in with a slap upside the head, giving them a much needed reality check.
Go ahead. Be my Simon. I'd rather find out sooner than later. :-)