Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Friday
Sep162005

Why I Blog

My mind is a dryer full of various articles of clothing. Socks missing mates, old granny panties, bras with the underwiring poking through nearly dissolved material, all tumbling together in the hot air. By that I mean to say, my brain is a hodge podge of halfway thought thoughts, old thoughts that are nearly all thunk out, thoughts I need to toss in the trash but keep jumbling around because I can't help but pick at them like old scabs that just won't heal. They're all tumbling round and round, sometimes dancing a mini polka with each other before spiraling into aloneness once again.

I blog because I write. I write because I think too much and it overflows onto paper. Writing is my cheap therapy. I must write. And when I write something good I get shivers of pleasure. Will go back and reread a beautifully crafted sentence dozens of times. My friend Natalie scrapbooks. My friend Tabatha knits. I write.

This is a place to organize my thoughts, file my experiences into neat little journal entries and photo sections. I miss good girlfriends, the ones who say "stop thinking that, you're just being silly" or "that's okay, I went through the very same thing". I can keep in touch with the most amazing women through this blog. I am honest through the written word in a way I can never be in person. I am not good with women. In my life I've always been more comfortable with men. I don't have sisters, was not close with my mom while growing up. So I related better to men.

Looking back, it was a bit of a cop out. Women just scared me. I found it easier to flirt my way into the good graces of men. And that's just sad. Women require finesse, women require intelligence. You can't fall back on good looks or the old flirtations that have always worked. The older I get, the more I realize this and seek out women who interest me.

When you write, you want to get published. You go to Barnes & Noble and buy the How To Get Published Book. You submit SASE's (self addressed stamped envelopes) with articles and when nothing happens, you sink a little lower. So now there is this blog. And it's filling a hole in me. Cementing some of the cracks that widened when I moved to New York and realized I'm pushing 30 and am in a career that pays well but just doesn't interest me the way it used to.

This blog is helping me critically think about myself and who I want to be. I want to live authentically. What does that mean? It means I want to be real. Every time I log in here I have a choice. I can choose to portray myself in whatever light I want. I can opt for candlelight, the most flattering, and paint myself in warm tones or I can flip on the fluorescents, the harsh early morning sunlight and reveal the little wrinkles forming in the corners of my eyes, the spots and black hairs that are growing on my chin at an increasingly alarming rate. I am insecure. I fight with my husband. I obsess over stupid things. I am very self critical. I have social anxiety. I can't express emotions to the people I love. I pretend like I don't care yet I observe what's in fashion and follow the leader and then sometimes even pretend like I am the leader! "I heard this band first", "I've always liked this..." I don't want to submit to the flavor of the week. I don't want to care what's in fashion, what everyone else is listening to.. Yet I do. I just bought cowboy boots. In a small way that bothers me. Because I've never really liked cowboy boots. Yet because they're making appearances on the legs of more and more women, suddenly, I had to have them. And I love them! Really, they're comfortable and look good with everything. But it bothers me that I care. It bothers me that there is a cool and a not cool and I am judged by these random unrelated things that surround my persona. This may sound trivial to many of you, but it weighs on my mind.

Reader Comments (8)

Ola.

People wanna go out into the world and leave me to sit in a dark apartment all day by myself then people are gonna have to find out the hard way that I can gnaw a pricey cowboy boot into a leather lump with the quickness.

And while I'm at it: where are the deer?
m
September 16, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterMax
I gotta get me a typing dog...
September 16, 2005 | Registered Commentertallchickbarbara
A leather pump might be nice...
September 16, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterMonica
I have some frozen deer in my fridge....deer sausage or venison roast anyone? Max??
September 16, 2005 | Registered CommenterFiabug
Caring about how you look and what others think about you is one thing, but making decisions about what you do, wear, say, and think based on others' perceptions is quite another. The former is normal, but the latter is not. An extreme case of the latter can be seen in people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (yes, it's a real thing). I knew someone who has that, and it's unlike anything you can imagine. Their whole life is built upon what they think others think about them.

So relax and look good. You'll be glad when you look back at pics of yourself in 15 years.
September 20, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterWestEnder
Just saw this post. That's a fantastic point.
September 20, 2005 | Registered CommenterMonicaBielanko
you're a fantastic writer.
September 21, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterPLD
Your last paragraph sounds exactly like me. I'm glad to know there are other people who think like i do.
September 21, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterKristin

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