I occasionally wish my blog was anonymous.
Once in blue moon I would like the safe opportunity to ignore the beam in my own eye and bitch mercilessly about the specks in other peoples.
Yesterday's disappearing post was a near example, and even then, on second thoughts, it seemed too cruel to leave in the public domain, simply because family and friends know that this is me. It's wonderful, even necessary, to vent, but not at the risk of this 'steam under pressure' being read and misread by those it refers to.
Resentment, anger, frustration, all these things are like tomato ketchup in a glass bottle with the lid off - leave them, hold on to them, fail to express them and they congeal until someone taps your bottle and gets the whole lot.
Something like one in ten people spend some time in a mental institution, normally occasioned by someone whacking their bottle with perfect timing, so the entire burgeoning contents erupts.
If you feel a little lunacy coming on, let it out now. If it turns up like a constant trickle, then let it do just that; trickle. Don't let the pressure build.
My (mercifully rare) need to explode comes when I have bitten my lip out of love or respect for the person who has offended, or even sometimes out of plain cowardice because I hate confrontation. When the umbrage continues to ferment and grow I seek a safe place to expunge it and then, and then I really wish this blog was it.
But it's not.