ESP

On our way back from the thermal pools at Laugardalslaug, I wondered if my private ruminations may not be as private as I believed. We had been walking in silence for several minutes—me, engaged in my own secret conversations. For a moment, I feared that my body language or facial expressions had betrayed thoughts from the inner recesses of my mind.

“Do you ever suspect that other people can read your thoughts?” I asked.

“Yes, absolutely.” said Waldorf. At one point in her young life, she was convinced that her elementary school teacher, Mr. Pooperton, could read her mind. And if he could do it, that meant that any number of people could. It was like colorblindness, realizing that others have sensory perception of which you are incapable. As a preventative measure, she'd stalk through the halls issuing this telepathic warning: “I know you can read my mind. I know you can read my mind. Stop it. STOP IT!”

There is nothing extra-sensory about reading someone’s personal blog. All it takes is some keywords and Google. One could hardly fault others for reading what one chooses to express so publicly. Blogs ostensibly provide keyhole-glimpses into a person’s most intimate thoughts, but they are ultimately public performances. It is another matter altogether when those who know me see me in this constructed persona.

I know you can read my blog…
I know you can read my blog…
Stop it…
Stop it!