Throughout school, I always did really well on the standardized achievement tests, with the exception of reading comprehension. Apparently, I don't comprehend what I read correctly. I think it is partly because I am such a literal person. If I read "a quick brown fox jumped over the fence," I take that to mean an animal hopped over the fence. I don't read anything in that about illegal immigrants and border crossings. I don't know if it is entirely because I take things so literally or because I am hardwired differently, but the good thing is my inability to comprehend things the way I am "supposed to" has not hampered my love of reading any.
I do, however, have moments where things that make perfect sense in my head make absolutely no sense to anyone else. It happens enough that I just know when I am going to have to explain what my little brain has conjured up. I'm not offended by it-it is just one of the many quirks that makes me me. I got to thinking about this today though, and it made me wonder what people think when they read my blog-if what I am really trying to say comes through or if my point is only made in my head. If I go back and re-read my posts, I read them as I originally wrote them because I know what I was trying to say.
Take a few of my last posts for example. In the post about the new meetup group I found, the point I was trying to make is that I am excited to have finally found a group that looks exactly like what I am looking for. I have not been truly excited about anything since James died and it is a good feeling. This will entice me to get out of the house and be an active participant much more than some of the other groups I am in that I keep RSVPing "no" to because I am not comfortable in settings that revolve around drinking and that is all they seem to do despite advertising otherwise.
Speaking of drinking (or not), my post about discovering that the sulfites are probably what causes my alcohol allergy was really about the sadness and frustration of not having my #1 cheerleader to share the information with. It was also about growth, to a lesser degree, in that the moment made me sad, but I did not go into a full on"grief attack." (Though shopping at Wal-Mart can be enough to make anyone cry in and of itself. I feel my blood pressure rise just by walking through the doors. And you know it is a weird day in the universe when the people at the mall are dressed more bizarrely than the people at Wal-Mart).
My cougar post yesterday was really just me musing about whether or not I could date a younger man without thinking it was icky. (I realize "icky" is not exactly a grown-up word). Not necessarily Volunteer Guy, whom I have absolutely no romantic interest in, but in general. If I was a 65-year-old thinking of going the "true" cougar route then finding a strapping young 57-year-old would be one thing. But to my 35-year-old way of thinking, a 27-year-old is still a child. A 27-year-old is someone I used to babysit when we were kids.
I also wonder if people who know me personally read and interpret my blog differently than those who don't. I think that would play into it. I am very glad that people actually read what I write, even though that wasn't why I started the blog in the first place. I started it to record my memories of my life with James and as an outlet to help me figure out what to do next-to help me as I find my way. But having readers keeps me inspired and keeps me writing. Ultimately, however, the only thing that really matters is that I convey what I am trying to say clearly enough that years from now when I look back on this and re-read my own words, I will understand perfectly what I was trying to say to myself.