Mom, my journal's open on the kitchen table, and I'm going out

I was thinking this morning how journals used to be private places. Does anyone keep a private journal anymore? I think my kids believe their Facebook's are private. Well, maybe on the one hand: they are just private to "us." On the other hand, they are electronic billboards broadcasting reflections of themselves into outer space. A writer I know found a researcher who decribes teen electronic activity as a means of self-validation. They spend too much time observing their own thoughts. Used to be, they just mumbled and moved on. Did I just imply I miss the mumbling? Blogs have changed though. They might be better described as blobs. . . boundless, shapeless, transparent ooze of thoughts and ideas. Social networks, text messaging, I-Ming, blogs, wikis. Sharing. So much sharing.

I have to admit, I like knowing people are reading this blog. At least two, apparently. This morning I thought it would be nice if my mother read it once in a while. I thought, when I was a kid, she might have wanted to read my journal to learn why I was acting so strangely. And now, maybe she'd want to read my blog to find out why I'm acting so strangely. Maybe at this point she doesn't want to know.