I've been writing this blog ever since it was fashionable to have a blog--I started in 2006. It's only recently that I've been censored, however.
People are using this blog in unhealthy ways. To check up on old relationships. To ruin current ones. People are reading this blog without my best interests at heart, which is stunning to me, because other than that wingnut stalker Kelly from Manhattan and that unfortunate Carin person from several years back, most readers HAVE seemed supportive, and I've been naive enough to assume I'm talking to friends, here. I've gotten comfortable.
Now I feel a little bit like Snidely Whiplash is reading me, twisting his mustache and looking for objectionable material.
More than one person--more than one woman, because men would never do shit like this, let's face it--has objected to my content because they think my writing affects them. And nothing could be further from the truth. I'm writing because I love to, and because in all seriousness, I have to. Back before I had a blog, my friends were regularly assaulted with rambling letters detailing my every nuance, and they are probably all grateful to the powers that be that blogs were invented.
I write for me, and to entertain you. I don't write to hurt anyone's feelings. I certainly don't write to be vindictive. Despite my general crankiness and curmudgeonly attitude, I am easily hurt, and I would never want to hurt someone else just for kicks. Okay, maybe if you have that horseshoe, fortune-cookie short hairdo. But other than that.
That said, if my blog makes you upset, don't read my blog. It isn't healthy, and it leads nowhere. Why do women pick at scabs?
I do it, too.
When I first met Ned, of course I perused his Facebook friends to see if I could figure out who in there he'd slept with. Hint: About 400 of his 200 friends. But after awhile, I stopped. Not because I'm some paragon of maturity, but because he told me how important I was to him, and I believed him. And because looking at people he'd slept with made me feel sort of terrible.
Maybe two years into the relationship, Ned and I were on the phone, and we were both on Facebook at the same time. Some old boyfriend had done something interesting, so we both got on that guy's page. "Wow, I've never done this to you before, looked at your people like this," said Ned. "This feels wrong."
Men are so funny. They're so different from us. There's not a woman alive who doesn't stalk the exes or the new loves. I know that. And why? What are we hoping to gain? Does it ever make us feel better?
One wonders how much involvement with the past is healthy. I'm starting to lean toward zero. Zero involvement. Now I sound like The Count. Zero! Ah ah ah ah.
This differs from how I used to think. I have always remained friends with any exes who choose to remain friends with me. I have never once wanted any of them back.
Let me repeat that. I HAVE NEVER ONCE WANTED ANY OF THEM BACK. I do not desire any exes. But now I can also see how people can think, What the hell? Why must you keep this person around? Move on. And social media is making it harder for us to move on.
Have I stayed friends with exes because there was a tiny part of me that hoped they still saw me as desirable, and I enjoyed the attention? I think maybe so. Is that healthy? I think maybe not. But I'm sitting here running through my exes: Marc, Steve, Dean, Jay, Jeff, and I don't think in a million years any of us would go back to a relationship for anything. For all the tea in China, and I like how that's someone's example of something great they could offer you. Oh, thanks! 900 tons of tea! Tempting. I'll be knee-deep in Lipton. Mmmm!
I guess I'm saying all this because these recent events have flummoxed me, and because I heartily resent being told what I can and cannot say on my own goddamn blog about my own goddamn life. Not long ago I edited something I wrote, something that was true, in order to not hurt the feelings of someone. I have never done that before and I'll never do it again. All I can do is tell the truth about life from my perspective, and while I will never strive to be cruel, I will also not alter my writing to avoid ruffled feathers.
My desire to be liked will not supersede my desire to be genuine.
In a way, I'm really just kind of over here minding my own business. And if my business bothers you, I am going to go out on a limb and assume you are not strapped down with your eyes forced open by toothpicks, with this blog before you. Go forth and think happy thoughts, live in the present, and don't look for drama here.
Well. THAT kind of drama, anyway.