Back in 2004, when I started this blog, the grand idea was that I have a place to just write. To "vent, bitch and story-tell". I have often felt that writing about a thing can often make it feel like less of a thing, that the act of writing about a feeling makes that feeling diminish somehow.

And suddenly, here I am, four years later, full. Full of stuff to tell. Because now? I can't here. Because you know me.

My greatest weakness is my inability to let you all in. There are maybe, maybe a handful of people that have seen me cry. Heard me cry. I get upset and I hold it so tightly, because it's my upset, that I end up choking it. Choking on it. Dealing with it completely alone. And right there is the reason I started this blog, to possibly let up a little on my grip. To open up a single inch in hopes that I could do that in real life.

It's not working. It's not working because I don't want to talk about things on here because they involve you. It's not working because the problem is wrapped so tightly in the solution that I will never free either of them. It's not working because I'm so good at being alone that I don't know how not to be.

I'm sitting here, thinking about how this all feels so much like a war with myself - I'm tired of being alone but I'm unable or unwilling or unsomething to reach for someone.

I don't think I can win.

And I think, that maybe, this blog is unable to serve the purpose I once had for it.

Fitness followed shortly by Fudge Stripes...

About 20 minutes ago I thought it was a good idea to open my blinds (it appeared to be getting darker, I wanted to keep an eye on the weather). About ten minutes ago my neighbor caught a good eyeful of me standing in front of the TV in my underwear (I was changing channels). I used to be crazy modest: wouldn't undress in front of my sister/mom modest. Something happened in the last few years and that just leaked away. And now I stand, in front of my ground level windows, in my skivies.

Although, to be fair, the amount and type of skivies I'm currently wearing could be misunderstood as a slutty workout outfit (sport bra and boy shorts). However, I think the guy that caught an eyeful was perplexed and intrigued as I watched his reflection (bouncing off an opposite window) slow down and consider a second pass.

In other news, the wiiFit has empowered me to work out in my skivies. And it's delicious. I wish everyone in the gym would just agree not to look around and we could all wear underwear only. It would be amazing. But that is also horrifying.

And, can I tell you that it makes no sense to me that the male trainer "stood in" for the female on one of my wiiFit yoga poses today? Like the lady trainer was so busy elsewhere in fake gym land. I hate him because of his soothing voice and lame mini ponytail. Who thought, hey, let's make the male trainer have a really stupid ponytail, that'd be manly and hot?