Don't Be a Dork  I feel like I am 13 again.  Facing an old issue and a new one at the same time.      See, there is this common condition in the online journaling world, self-censorship.  Different people handle it in differing degrees. Some tell nearly everything, while others are so cryptic that reading their words is either a mystery or a torture, depending on what you're into.  The reasons for self-censorship vary.  Most of the time people worry about the feelings of others who might get mentioned, and who might take things the wrong way.  Some people are avoiding emotional issues that could be hurtful to themselves or others.  At least one person I know uses self-censorship to avoid scandal should she ever run for public office.      I simply am afraid of looking like a dork.      It's really silly.  The issue of coolness has been a dead one for such a long time.  I haven't really cared whether I was cool or not.  And as long as I knew what was going on, pretty much, and what my place in the world was, pretty much, being a dork wasn't someting that happened often.      Now I am struggling against self-censorship because something exciting and frightening is bubbling up inside me.  And it's so incredibly stupid, I can't possibly rant in here without looking like an idiot.  But I really need this outlet or I am gonna burst.  Which will either be agonizing or orgasmic.  Anyone wanna bet which way it'll go?      There's a party.  It's not an Army party.  Nobody I know will be there.  The most familiar person will be someone I have emailed maybe four times, but whose words I read every day.  This person and the people he knows are getting to be kind of famous.  And ordinary people are capable of great dorkiness around well-known or popular people.  Stupid.  Utterly.      No, that's not really it.  I have met famous people before, and not gone brain-dead.  The problem is that I haven't been to a party in years, except for the Army kind.  And not many of those either.  I don't know what to wear.  I don't know what to do with my hair.  Have no clue what to bring.  Hope I don't get a zit.  Hope I don't forget how to make intelligent conversation.  Hope my hormones don't keep me in agony the whole time.  I should be coming up on ovulation around then, and am already a writhing mass of horniness as it is.      And the person in question is one I find arousing.  Very.      I have to remember that I can trust my instincts.  Whenever I have played it by ear, not overthinking, following gut advice, things have come out right.  Usually.  At least my gut never turns me into a dork.  A fool, yes, sometimes.  But a cool fool.      There.  I didn't censor myself much.  I hope I won't look like a dork at the party.  And if I look like one right here, so be it.    -- Spring