sometimes i'll be looking through my site (kind of like how you sneak a peek at yourself in the mirror, just to see, not like you look any different than you did yesterday, but still) and i'll blush. not in any red-cheek, sweaty-palms, hushed-voice way; it's probably not visible to anyone at all.
i'll just all of a sudden i wish i could turn myself outside-in and hide.
i don't know why, exactly, but in that single moment of introspection, i see a self-centered, melodramatic, blathering idiot going on and on about herself, and i'll get annoyed, no, angry, like why are people letting me do this? why are they glorifying such a pathetic display of egocentrism? why are they wasting their time?
maybe it's stage fright. even when i'm writing in my spiralbound book, i stop myself and think, when i die, somebody will look through this, and will i want my mother, brother, friend, to see that i thought this way? i used to write disclaimers at the beginning of each book asking the reader to take pity on me. i'm not really insane, i'd write. these are just thoughts.
i make something public because at that moment that is what i want to say, but the next day i have something else on my mind or i change my mind about it entirely. or i share an image because it makes me smile or laugh, but later i am tired of looking at it. it's just that instead of the words floating away in the air or the photo being stuffed back into a shoebox, they're still there on the screen staring back at me. and you.
luckily, everyone is always way more forgiving with me than i am.