I am somewhat hesitant to commodify myself. My computer is not sure if this is a word, even my computer is out of touch.

Why write a blog about Meg, advertising my thoughts and activities? It seems somehow cheap.

I feel as if I am perched on the end of a diving board hoping no one will notice if I slink away. But the other side of my discomfort is the embarrassment of riches that exists out there in Blog Land. Every last person is writing about their lives and their thoughts and occasionally they are interesting, but mostly the thoughts float around in a sea of voices.

In the back of my head is a professor with one eyebrow in the air who is questioning my motives. If I were a “Real Writer,” he says, I would sit down with a pen and paper and write “Real Literature.” Pounding out approximately 500 words on ramblings is like mass producing your art. Unless your Samuel Johnson.

But wait, do I care about all that ? Haven’t I, as a natural born feminist, said that art was something produced while women cleaned and cooked and looked after children; that needlepoint and quilting were as much of an art form as an overly regarded oil painting masterpiece?

And today, the internet is the medium. This is how we speak to each other. Another thing I have always argued is that when women pass information to each other we are empowering each other.

Sometimes it may seem like gossip, but it is power. If we learn that someone just lost her husband, we can call her over for dinner, and if we learn that someone’s kid just got a nasty rash, we can keep an eye on ours.

Talk is our underground and we, as women, are not shy to ask each other questions. We pass each other information that is considered ‘anecdotal’ to the doctors but lifesaving to us. I googled ‘tubes tied problems’  the other day just as an entry into thinking about getting rid of the dread fear of pregnancy in your late 40’s.

What I found was a discussion among hundreds of women on the years of pain they experienced after the operation. Doctors unilaterally dismissed the pain but women were talking to each other and passing on their experiences.

So I did have a realization the other day, while driving, a time when your unconscious is free to get work done as long as no one is talking away at you. I thought, well, if you are going to do it then it really has to be egotistical, all about you.

And although I struggle with the egotistical nature of the blog, I do believe in the healing power of communication. It is comforting to hear from others who are going through what you have, or read something that makes you feel less alone in your battles.

I was once a shy child that would burst into tears if a camera was pointed at me. Having survived those first 5 years, I am now the Elaine of the group. If something socially challenging must be done I am the one sent in. I am fearless, bold, and not self-conscious. I talk to the neighbors when they are too loud, I pose nude for artists for a good buck, I help strangers on the street, I organize huge parties and events in my neighborhood, that is me.

So I am going to blog now – about my observations and situations. And I will include my own photography, and possibly a mediocre poem or two if I get inspired.

It’ll all be… painfully about me.