Today is the year (at least by non-lunar calendar) anniversary of a death in the family. I didn’t think I’d be as affected by it as I am. I mean, it’s been a year. Right? But I am. I can’t seem to stop sleeping.
Perhaps it’s a coincidence–maybe I am sick or so besieged with allergies that my body craves the rest. But there is an unfamiliar subdued feeling that tells me that I might just be fucking sad.
Filed under Life, SuddenDeath
Writing under a pseudonym has been great.
While some of you know who I am “irl,” I don’t have to worry about the masses connecting some of this personal information to a specific person and all the consequences that may bring. No more stalkers is a good thing. Still being able to blog is a good thing. It’s a hard habit to break after blogging for ten years, before the word “blog” (which sounds like a vomit-burp) was born.
But sometimes, it’s a bummer. Like when I want to connect with some of you on facebook or goodreads. I have to stop myself. You know like, literally say to myself, my finger hovering over the click thing by my trackpad, “Hey, this person doesn’t know that YOU are Jade Park!” Duh. And so I refrain from making the connection, because you’ll be like, “Who the HELL is this person?!”
I do come out occasionally–that’s the nature of friendship. At one point you shed the mask and the clothes and enter the world of psychic intimacy. I mean, shit, it gets lonely here at times, and this blog really is about making a connection with the world, somehow. And writing under a pseudonym, for all its safety, stops shy of real intimacy and connection. I love all the friends I’ve made through my blog.
Only a few times have I been faced with folks who wished I’d stayed anonymous. “You’ve lost your mystique!” one of them said to me.
Oh.
Writing Under a Pseudonym 