"OH BOTHER" said Pooh

I type.

I backspace and remove

I type again

I backspace and remove again.

All the words that I want to say have to disappear because if I truly say what is in my heart, I will be criticized and criticism is so very painful to hear when your intentions were only for the good.  It leaves one to think, "Why even bother to share my thoughts on anything.  I have to watch and be careful so I don't offend someone that may be offended by something that they find offensive that really wasn't meant to be offensive at all!"

Oh bother! said Pooh; as I recall he always said that best.

You can know how to do something so well and your feelings of wanting to share that with the rest of the world just sends surges of happiness and ambition through your veins.  Then you compose it all and hit the "send" "publish" "post" or whatever button that will sent all those well thought out typed words you so carefully chose to express a humbling and loving antidote for anyone out there interested that like you experienced the same phenomenon in this life, and in a blink of an eye that paragraph or for that matter two or three, materialize like magic having traveled through the megabyte galaxy of the Internet into the formats of reception created in multitudes upon multitudes around the globe as published text on some social media parking place that you are a signed in member of.

Seconds past and there is a feeling I believe that all of us experience after clicking on that button of wonder that sends our typed message out, where we are fascinated that we actually achieved the courage to click it and make it happen followed by, too late now what's done is done.

The stare comes next.  Reading it over.  Sounds good and even thought spell check didn't catch a few grammar errors that now seem to be magnifying themselves right before your eyes, you do hope that all the replies comes back as positive. 

Well, if there were billions of people in this world that thought exactly like you did, the chances of that happening would be 100%, but part of you does begin to prepare yourself for the replies that will come back that may not seem as favorable as you would hope.

Then there are those that did not use keyboards to type their words.  They used little knives that were sharpened by years and years of resentment that are etched so deeply with harsh criticism that as you read that heartless reply, you clutch your throat and with index and thumb you draw any clothing in that area close together to hind your jugular so not to expose it for chance that the author may jump out through your built in camera in one animated swoop closely related to a scene out of Roger Rabbit and gnaw at you like the doe like prey that you are.

For all the hundreds of compassionate replies that praise you for your guided and loving words accompanied by encouragement that had your emotional spirit soaring in the stratosphere of highest regard and appreciation filling you with sustenance to believe you actually have the ability to help others, that marshmallow world of sweet wonder is torched in seconds by the fiery arrow lit and fueled by the author of the cynical resentful reply. 

PLOP.  Downward you land and the fall bruises your ego to the point that you retreat and again comes that blank stare at the screen.  Type words.  Backspace...remove words.  Thinking....signing off.  Shut down.

Pooh Bear...Oh bother!

Searching for sweet satisfying honey is all worth it.  You betcha Pooh.