Don't Ask, Don't Tell

For years, I've lived by the old adage, "Don't ask, don't tell." If you don't want to know the answer to something, simply don't ask the question. And if you want to know the answer to something specific, you have to ask the specific question.

I'm a sucker for details. I'm also a sucker for skirting around details. Or at least I used to be. I could dodge the semantics of a question all day long if you asked that question in the wrong way. I think it all came down to the public, personal, private life situation, and how I tried to keep my private life my own, even from those whom I should have been sharing my private life with. Sometimes I just wanted things that were mine, and sometimes I still feel that way. So now, if you were to ask me if I still dodge questions, I guess the answer would be yes.

I got my hair colored, and when I mentioned that I was going to have my hair done, several people asked me what color I was changing to. I cryptically said that I wasn't going to tell until after I had it done. There were a few people that I did tell and showed the picture that I was going of off to, simply because I wanted their opinions. I don't consider this dodging the question. I was worried that I was going to get in the chair and change my mind. It's a drastic change:

However, I'm not always like that. Nick and I were out to dinner the other night, and I asked him if I could leave my phone and purse at the table while I ran to the restroom. He said sure and jokingly started to poke at my phone. I easily gave him the passcode to my phone without him even asking. I've got nothing to hide on there. When I got back, the phone was just sitting on the table. Do I think he looked through it? Yes. When I went into my messages, there was a message up that I didn't leave up there. You know what. I don't care. He can look through my phone anytime he wants to, just like I hope I could look through his phone anytime I wanted to. In the case of my phone, he can ask, because I have nothing to tell.

I'm trying to think of anything else where I'd give him free reign. I don't think there is. I keep a journal, and I hope to the high heavens that nobody ever asks me what's in that. I'd have to lie my ass off. That is very private to me, as it should be for everyone who keeps a journal. I believe that everyone should keep a journal. Whether you just write about your day, your feelings, what's happening with your family or kids, whatever, I think it's important to get it all out. There are prompts for journaling if you don't know what to write about but you want to write. I don't think I've ever really used a prompt, as I have what I call "word vomit," as in there's so much in me to get out, it just all comes pouring out. I highly recommend getting a notebook, decorating it with some pretty stickers, and writing down three sentences to start with. You never know what'll take off.

I actually destroyed all my old journals and writing from my adolescence and teen years. There were quite a few of them, but I was scared by the content of them. That was before I was diagnosed as Bipolar. I'm sad now that I did that. I kept every journal after I got pregnant with Bryan, so I have journals from 1997 and on. I didn't journal faithfully back then; I only started to do so over the past few years. I believe I have a total of 11 journals from 1997 on, 3 of them from over the past few years. I number each one on the outside after I'm done with it and store it in a special box. They'll make for an interesting read when I'm very old and senile. I still haven't decided what I want done with them after I pass.

Okay, so this blog took a completely different turn, but I guess when it comes to journaling, that could make for another don't ask, don't tell. After you pass, if your loved ones don't want to know your deepest thoughts, they don't need to read your journals. And of course they don't need to sneak a peek at them while you're alive. If you ever worry about that, keep them under lock and key in a fire box or something of the sort. I've never worried about it. My family has a lot of respect for my privacy, thankfully. Heck, Nick doesn't even like reading my blogs; I can't imagine him trying to read my journals. And the worst I've found with my journal being moved is Matthew using it to prop up his toys or cars.

Until next week's dirt...