The Unspoken Rules of Voyeurism

It's an interesting thing having a blog like this. I know a girl who has a blog about hot dogs. So, I often talk to her about hot dogs. There are people who have sports blogs. There are gossip blogs. My blog, though, is about my life. Its the rough, unedited thoughts I have about my existence. I sometimes write before I even think. I made a promise to myself that if I made this blog public, I would continue to write it as if it was private. Thus far, I think I have. But the interesting thing about having a public blog about my private thoughts is that, just like I do with the hot dogs, people tend to talk to me about it.

It shocks me to have people talk to me about my blog, because I imagined that there was an unspoken agreement. I imagined it to be a lot like getting dressed every morning with the blinds wide open. I notice the neighbor watching. I see her. She sees me. I don't mind that she's watching, because I rather like the attention. But when we see each other in the street, we pretend as if our intimate daily encounter never happens. Its as if she knows that acknowledging seeing me naked every morning would force me to close the blinds.

As I said, I imagined that my blog readers understood the unspoken rule. Keep looking in the window. Don't force any awkward moments, and I'll keep the blinds open. Clearly no one else saw the same soft core movies on HBO that I watched when I was a kid, because no one seems to understand the rules. People send me messages saying, "So I was at work reading your blog and...." or "I think your blog is really interesting Rueben." To be honest, I don't mind those comments so much. When they come from people outside of my daily life that just wanna let me know they were reading, I actually like them. Its the only way I know someone is looking in the window. But when people close enough to me to think maybe I'm talking about them say, "So was that me you were talking about?" or "I see from you blog that you......" I really kind of hate that. Its that awkward moment while my neighbor and I are grabbing our newspapers and she yells over the shrubs, "SO I SAW YOU NAKED EARLIER. COULD YOU MOVE A LITTLE TO THE LEFT NEXT TIME? THANKS!" Not cool.

I say all that to say this. If you wanna let me know you're looking in the window, great. I keep it open for a reason. But if you start asking me about that mole on my left butt cheek, I'm gonna have to close the blinds.