Today wasn’t so bad. I had to write a bunch of news briefs, but the whole rest of the time I got to spend preparing the site for our December launch. I found a really awesome way to display our archives, and set up the way that users can subscribe to the magazine with a few clicks.
It’s vaguely ironic that I’m writing about this, but Terry called and left me this long message today. And, since he said that everything that we talk about ends up online, I thought what better way to make the prophecy come true:
I don’t think you really understand what the problem is. It’s not okay to write about people in your blog. Like, it’s your blog but that’s a public blog. Would you expect me to not become upset with you if you were telling people nasty things about me? You are talking behind my back. You know, that’s not okay.
That’s not something that friends or even someone in a relationship—a boyfriend—should do. That is totally unacceptable. You wrote those things about me and left them there for everyone to see. You justify everything you say, everything you wrote, just by saying that it’s a blog. Don’t read if you don’t want to read it. That’s unacceptable. Don’t write things about people because they are hurtful and you know I’ve told you that this is happening and I told you that I don’t enjoy that and I don’t appreciate it and you continue to do it! So not only are you aware that it upsets me, you’re still doing it.
So I don’t [burst of static] and there’s no excuse for you to continue doing it when you know that it’s hurtful. You say that you don’t know what to say and I know you’re very surprised when I don’t want to talk to you. Well, of course I don’t want to talk to you because everything I talk about goes right into that blog. You’re more concerned about your fucking writing than anything else. And you know what honestly I prefer or what’s between you and me to stay between you and me and not me and you and the rest of the world.
Well, he’s right. But I guess I am, by nature, an exhibitionist. I guess it could be taken as a copout, but if I’m writing about someone, no matter what I’m saying, that means that I care about them.
And it’s interesting…he never said anything about the content of my questions about his character…he was only incensed that they were public.
I’ve learned this from experience: people love reading about themselves, and there’s just no way to make them stop. All this ridiculousness about “talking behind his back”… the things that you write in a journal don’t work themselves into a conversation, for the most part.
He does have a point. I did make some pretty big indictments of his character and morality, but I guess that’s one of the differences between us. I judge people and then I wait for them to surprise me. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. I think he likes it this way. No real friends means no one to hurt you.
Anyway.
So last night I registered my domain until 2012. So even if I’m poor and I can’t pay for hosting at least someday I will be able to resurrect Retroviral.
So I’ve been talking a lot with Zero, he’s doing a rehearsal of this play that he’s in. It’s so odd, but *gasp* he’s interesting. Which, after hanging out with Britney’s number one fan for like three months, is a welcome blast of fresh air.
It is so damn hot in this house, and I’ve no idea why. I think I’m going to venture out and turn down the thermostat. Eh, maybe later. I’m having this lethargy attack…this public transit thing kills me. Thank the gods that I’m going to (maybe) get my scooter fixed tomorrow morning.
I can’t stop listening to this Felix da Housecat mix that I downloaded ages ago. He’s a great DJ. Too bad I missed him at Coachella. Hum, “Walking on Thin Ice” was the song him and Yoko recorded the day he died. I didn’t know that. The Felix mix is really catchy, but that bitch can’t speak English to save her life.
I finished Wicked on the bus ride to work today. The ending was so sad. But I’ve put it behind me. I’m delving into The Mandarins with renewed enthusiasm. The last novel of Simone de Beauvoir’s that I read maybe want to jump off a cliff (All Men are Mortal), so I hope this one is more of a slow decline into terribleness.
Well, I do have that movie about people jumping off the Golden Gate. Meh. I have to get up in like eight hours. I need to sleep.
Categories: Ennui