[Today's subject line is from Lynda Hull's "The Window."]

A startling editorial in today's Tennessean: Sometimes, the 'strong' among us need a shoulder to cry on.

Now, I am in a *sparkling* mood this morning, and it's not like I'm particularly shy about kvetching and moaning when I'm not. So, posting this link isn't a hint in any way. At the same time, the article struck a chord with me, because I do deliberately keep most of the drama offline, and people who see me in person -- hell, even the guy who lives with me -- have often said they can't tell when I'm sad or ailing because I haven't said so.

I'm reminded of what M'ris has said several times -- something along the lines of, it's frustrating when some folks assume that they're seeing all or even half of what's going on in one's life once they've skimmed one's blog. There's much I'm not at liberty to share online or even within my creative work, because the stories aren't mine to tell, or because I would risk hurting someone's feelings or reputation, or because I don't have energy to spare for responding in depth to questions and comments, or because I'm still working out what I think and how I feel about it. This isn't news to many of you, but I'm aware that it mystifies or even offends others who live their lives as open books and assume/expect others to do the same.

To which I say: I'm a Southern woman with a fairly substantial offline life. Of course I have things to hide! secrets to keep. :-)

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On a related note, I was amused by this quote from a private investigator in this morning's New York Times:

“Every keystroke on your computer is there, forever and ever,” Mr. Mulvaney said.

He had one bit of advice. “The only thing you can truly erase these things with is a specialty Smith & Wesson product,” he said. “Throw your computer into the air and play skeet with it.”

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I'm guessing the Tennessean editorial may have been triggered by my state representative's current troubles. It's terribly sad - he's been a good legislator to date (I've liked him ever since he joined the media in suing the state lege over closed meetings), and I hope he gets himself unscrambled soonest.

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My work week's not near over, but last night I shut down the laptop and hopped onto the back of the BYM's motorcycle. It was a beautiful night for riding (even if he did have to bump-start the bike on our way back). We went to the State Fair: Sheep! Bunnies! (There was a Polish blue I briefly considered taking home, but then I remember it's all I can do handling the Abby). Cows! Chickens! (Belgian d'usse featherlegs actually have substantial feathering on their legs, and there were several Silkies that looked like what would happen if you crossed a chicken with a Pomeranian.) Ducks! Acrobats! Along with pumpkins and watermelons 2-7 times my weight, and a huge model train setup, and cases of beribboned needlecraft (including a tasselled pillow made from the signed lining of a great-aunt-or-other's coat, with trimmings from other family textile souvenirs).

And fair food, of course: lemonade, funnel cake, tacos, sno-cone. Watching other fairgoers compete for tacky prizes (I have to admit the plushie octopi were tempting). And riding the Ferris wheel. It was the BYM's first time on one, oddly enough, and probably the last -- it was a little too creaky for his taste. Me, I like 'em - the last time I was on one, I'd consumed far too much whisky and Prosecco the night before at a Chicago bar, and then gotten up way too early to go to synagogue, and I'm just scared enough of heights that being high up over Navy Pier made me forget how hung over I was. It was terrific. ;-)