I don’t like summer. Many people look at me like I’ve just announced that I have a penchant for hot alien loving when I say that I don’t like summer. But, I don’t. I don’t like the heat. I don’t like the overly bright sun, blinding me and causing me to put icky feeling stuff on my skin to protect it from the harsh rays. I don’t like sweating without moving. (Sweating that occurs from legitimate movement is okay and actually celebrated. Sweating for breathing is ridiculous.) I don’t like humidity. I don’t like wearing minimal clothing.

I prefer fall and winter, with winter being my favorite season. I want turtlenecks and jeans. Sweatshirts and football games. Colorful leaves that you can see because you’re not blinded by sunlight or if you are blinded by sunlight it’s because everything is coated by a new snowfall. I prefer hot coccoa to cold drinks. Slippers. Long robes. Lots of blankets.

In fact, it’s the clothing issues that get to me the most. I don’t like wearing shorts. I don’t like skimpy tank tops (on me…!). I prefer to be covered. Not because I’m a prude. Or even that I’m overtly self-conscious (though I do have my issues). No. Quite frankly, I just like the way that a turtleneck looks on me; elongating my neck, framing the underside of my chin. I like hoodies. I like a good fit in a jean or a pair of courduroys and I love the way courduroys sound. I like pea coats… okay, I like any coats. I like the overall look that comes with cooler weather.

I don’t like to be partially naked, exposing things.

So why the heck do I blog like I do? I don’t know. I’ve been feeling very naked in blog land lately. I’ve been on a writing binge; dumping absolutely everything that’s coming into mind so that it doesn’t fester within me and become a boil on my soul. And the thoughts and emotions are coming steadily, without ceasing as of late. I need a break from my own mind. Is this possible?

Laying it all out on the line on this blog is usually freeing. My anger doesn’t seem so scary once it’s put to “paper” over here. Usually. My regret doesn’t seem so overwhelming when it’s stated outside instead of echoing in my heart. Usually. My fears aren’t so encompassing that I can’t move past my anxiety when I come here and dialog with myself and others. Usually.

Today, I’m feeling over-exposed. I’m feeling like I went to school naked. Not just without a bra on… naked-naked.

Part of me wants to hit the delete button. And hide. And run away. Knowing, logically, that this feeling will pass when I deal with whatever I’m dealing with… that would be a really dumb thing to do; delete everything I’ve processed here. Part of me wants to say to newcomers, “Oh, this is all fictional. It’s not real.” But it is real. In fact, it’s so real that it hurts at times. And by at times, I do mean right now.

I’m working towards something new as of late. I can feel it. But learning something new, while naked, isn’t always flattering to those who are watching. So be kind as I figure out what is moving within me and where it is taking me. I’m vulnerable and anxious. I’m curious as to what is behind the changing curtain. Is it something I even want to put on and deal with? Or is it more wonderful and beautiful than I could have imagined to design for myself?

I wait. Purging my thoughts as they come, fast and furious. Something is coming. Fall Fashion for the Chronicles Blog, 2007. Complete with turtlenecks. Until then, we blog naked.

We mourn naked.