Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret

For those of you too old or too young to remember, that's the title of one of The Great Judy Blume's fantastic books. Tonight I went to a fabulous party, and while I was there, I ran into people I see all the time and people I never see. The former group was polite and said hello, while the latter group said, "Elizabeth! Oh my gosh - I love your blog!"

Are you kidding me?!

Mostly I write this blog because I have things to say, or write, that clear my mind of its clutter. About 95% of the time, those things are meaningless to people in my life, so I write them here in order to feel like I've talked as much as I want to. (Yes, people...even as much as I talk, there is still more to say. Hard to believe, I realize this.) What only occurred to me tonight is that people are actually reading this.

People are actually reading this!

Should I edit myself? My previous posts? Have I said something that's too incriminating (or worse, not incriminating enough)? Have I offended anyone yet? For about five minutes I had this debate with myself, and then I realized that frankly, I don't care. Have I offended you? Don't be so sensitive. Have I incriminated myself in any way? Oh, please. I was never as good as people thought I was in the first place. Should I edit myself? No way.

So I'm here. And so is my blog. Just like Judy Blume's Margaret, I'm here saying what it is I have to say. And it feels good and I like it. Maybe I didn't know you all were out there reading, but now that I do, I'll try to be somewhat entertaining.

And last but not least, speaking of entertaining, you two girls that invited me to San Antonio have no earthly idea what you're getting yourselves into. Tequila?! In Texas?! Don't ask me twice!