Bloggus Interuptus / by Christina Osheim

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I have had my first case of it. I wrote a quick, stupid, short blog and didn't post it. I didn't feel satisfied with the result. Why would that be? It was kind of funny and was what my day had been. But. But But... it didn't feel authentic. What is authenticity then? Is it reality? If so, then why was it inauthentic? And then what does authentic mean to me? Honesty? Same applies? It is something to ponder and ties into questions I continually ask myself. On one hand, this is just a silly little blog. A recording of day to day thoughts and actions that are sad, funny, ludicrous, or *gasp!!!* boring. (to name a few). On the other this blog is important. So how do I define authenticity in a blog post that changes daily. If I set rules other than post something I will get pissed and stop. Which would be a mistake. But what standard do I require to feel comfortable putting this out onto the recorded history of our world. For all I know this could be Russia's humor post - that sad poor crazy american artist and her antics? She compares her work to Faberge's?!?!? What a silly little peon." 

My sister in law and I were talking earlier and it did come up that a blog of something posted online is a digital tattoo. You can try to laser it off, but the content can be discerned. Am I sharing too much of internal me with the world by doing this? It can easily be linked to my business and found easily through mild curiosity about me and an easy google search. And I am being honest and am bringing up things that many would consider a bit too open. But my intuition tells me it is ok and a good move. But could it bite me in the ass? Could it limit where I can go business wise? Should I have tried to hide it under a clay rug? And what is authenticity? My authenticity? This blogs? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! And am I being way to narcissistic and self important to think that these questions are important enough to become part of my tatted world? Or am I just making mountains out of mole hills. Do vole's make hills? I would love to write mountains out of vole hills. Hmm... something to check and a bit off deflection on my part to take me off topic, whatever that may be. 

I am harping on this partly because I have been known to push to extremes. Not surprising given my profession and my status as a recovering alcoholic and a 6 months today sober woman. (This is a tid bit I didn't include in my original blog. It felt wrong not to. I am so proud of this fact. To not include it would be lying by admission). There is also a bit of denial of fears going on in today's post, I want to write it before I take the next step with Faberge. I want to have this checked off today's block. To do so before I take the next step with it I don't have to say how scared I am. Terrified. Excited, yes, but sooooo terrified. I have never done anything or made anything like this before. This is probably why my blogs for the past week have seemed funny but scattered. I am pushing myself and stretching myself thin and scared of that fact also. What if I can't work under pressure sober? What if I work so hard sober and it erupts in process and I seem unreliable. What if the people I am doing thisfor hate it and mock me. I can imagine the worst in every possible scenario. But I tell myself to put on my big girl panties and forge ahead and work in every way I can to make that not happen and to put forth a product I am proud to put my and my company's name on. And I tend to go to extremes. Is this one? Is it a negative one? Am I doing things I shouldn't be? Pushing myself too hard? Not sleeping enough? I am not wonder woman and am a fragile breakable creature who is held together by who knows what. My legs and feet never ever ever ever stop tingling or hurting. Ever. EVER. Alcohol induced neuropathy. Extremes. 

I guess this is what I mean when I say authentic. My authentic. Acknowledging that I can make bad jokes til the cows come home but I try to also attack or explore what's underneath. Get to the core of the onion. i haven't for a while. Or rather, I haven't outside my head. I am still spinning and I am still scared and I am still proud of where I am today and what I am doing. If my progeny (assuming I ever find someone who doesn't mind the horde of hares in my head and decide to act like one and help populate the world) read this I will be ok with it. This is also why I turn things into games or adventures a way to put a filter on my lens. It may not change the core which is what it is, but it can change the tone through which it is viewed.