There are people reading my blog. Gak! I feel exposed! I feel naked! I feel silly and stupid and found wanting and all that.
Even though [deep adult breath here] I know perfectly well I'm OK. I'm OK. I am a Worthwhile and Lovely Being. [more deep breathing]
How do I know all this? It's all Sue's fault, once again. Her brother Chris and his wife Elaine came down from Portland, Maine, to see Sue over the weekend and Sue thought they'd be thrilled to meet me, since they are both knitters (yes, Chris is a male-type person and he knits, socks even!, and looks quite, ahem, good while doing so. So, you see, children, that myth that real men don't knit is only a myth; find some other legend to believe in) and had heard so much about me (this is the point at which I started feeling queasy).
Chris and Elaine are charming people, sophisticated, funny, worldly. Go read Elaine's blog, if you want to see for yourself. She's a very good knitter, by the way, and quite addicted. And makes a mean cosmopolitan, too. I think she had six, maybe seven, scarves and socks and whatnot in the knitting bag she brought. We all went to Webs, of course (Chris even knew the back way from Sue's house), and I resisted everything except the new Spin Off magazine and the winter Vogue Knitting, which actually had some knittable and wearable garments, surprise, surprise, clearly a [insert winter holiday of choice] miracle.
Get to the point, Linnet.
They had read my blog. They thought it was funny. OK, I can deal with that. I know Sue; they know Sue - they're relatives even! - I can cope with relatives of friends reading my blog. But then, Elaine said lots of people read my blog.
That's just downright scary.
You out there, you know who I am. At least within my limited ability to convey myself on the digital page. I'm a formerly shy person, you know; having people know who I am is viscerally frightening, despite my best efforts to out-grow that aspect of me/myself/I.
And yet. And yet.
I want to be noticed. I may even need to be noticed. Being the eldest of five kids, the first three born in the first four years of my parents' marriage, left me a little neglected, I think. Just a little. I'm not talking abuse or not being fed and clothed and loved, nothing like that. Just ... a little not noticed.
So having people read this blog is OK for me, maybe good for me. You're all knitters, you're used to the imperfections of human creations, you enjoy hanging out with other knitters.
And given a few events close to home that aren't really mine to talk about, I'm feeling my mortality, feeling the need for people nearby, for laughter together over our knitting, for the joy in our shared obsessions. So thank you for reading. For noticing. For laughing with me now and then.
[cue Barbra singing People who need people...]