Why don't you tell me?

I had drinks with a friend I don’t get to see enough last week. We started as co-workers almost 10 years ago and realized we were neighbors as well. We only worked together for a year but the friendship remains strong. She’s the type of friend that can ask me for anything and if it’s within my power to give her, it’s hers.

We have traded strange favors over the years. She took my cat and newborn kitten into her home over Christmas one year after a surprise birth only days before our two-week vacation out of state. I’ve taken long 12-hour road trips with her. Driven her to the bus stop in the middle of the night. We have shared our ups and downs for the better part of a decade both personal and business. We finally seem to both be on a smooth stretch of road both at home and work at the same time.

Highly unusual.

We drank chocolate martini’s and traded stories, catching each other up on what’s been going on in our lives. It was sweet. I told her that I gave myself this blog for my birthday.

“What's a blog?”

It’s like my secret public diary.

“Your what?”

It’s where I vent, boast, dream, lament, wonder and write about nothing. It’s out there in cyber space for people to stumble across and no one knows who I am (for the most part). I call it: ps. I Love You.

“Why?”

That’s a good question. I think I don’t say the words often enough, both to others or myself. I need to remind the people in my life that I love them. And I need to remind myself that in order to love others I need to love myself first. Is that a good enough reason?

“Yeah, it was a present to yourself.”

I giggled as I told her about 100 people a month read my blog. Now that’s no where close to being a famous blogger like my friends at RLP and Main Point who probably get more than that many people on a daily basis. Plus that most people are just stumbling over mine accidentally, where as my friends have regular readers who check in with them on a daily basis. (Probably because they are excellent writers. Not just someone recounting their daily journey.)

“Tell me again, why people would want to read your diary?”

I don’t know, maybe they’ll tell me.