It must seem weird and maybe a bit icky to some, the fact that I’m writing about this intense shit while it’s happening. I was apprehensive at first, but I couldn’t think of any good reason not to. I think my hesitation was just a vestige of Midwestern reticence about anything emotional. It’s distasteful to show strong emotion, even to your family.
Most of my work has been, in some way, autobiographical. The real-time aspect of blogging heightens the effect, but I can’t see how it’s any different sharing this experience now as it’s happening or sharing it 2 years from now in a book or something.
And, anyway, while I’m sitting here composing sentences and paragraphs I feel sane and focused, and I will do just about anything right now that will make me feel that way. Because I’m going a little crazy.