There are times …

I’ve gotten spoiled by blogging the last five years. I find keying my words here for myriad people to see very therapeutic, a fine way to express my feelings and thoughts and get some feedback and validation (or, occasionally, and also usefully, challenges).

But there are limits. Because people I know and care for, or whose opinions I need (or want) to be concerned about (e.g., an employer, a friend, a relative), or whatever, either do or could read this blog. So I can’t say, “Boy, do I wish X would grow up,” or, “Damn, I hate working for X,” or “X did something that really bugged me yesterday,” or “X is such an cretinous fool,” or “I’m glad X is on vacation and I don’t have to hear the incessant whining,” or “X just made a huge mistake and wouldn’t listen
to me about it if I argued the point, dagnabbit,” or “X has seriously torqued me off” or even “Here’s what Y told me about X” … if X is likely to show up here and get an eyeful of that sort of thing and get (justifiably) angry. Not only am I conflict-averse, not only do I (as noted) care about X in some fashion, but it’s just plain rude.

I could keep a personal journal, but, like I said, it’s therapeutic to share these feelings, even with the masked faces of the Internet.

Some people get around that by adopting their own masks, keeping anonymous blogs, ranting and raving as they choose without worrying that the parents, spouses, kids, family, friends, co-workers, employers, etc. will find out. There are times I’m sorely tempted to go that route, when the inability here to be frank gets frustrating and angering in and of itself.

Except then, of course, I couldn’t be frank, either (keeping anonymous requires a lot of deception, not to mention being a fair amount ofwork). And of course, anonymity and privacy have a way of blowing up and into the open at usually the most inopportune of times.

So, not likely to happen. I’ll just have to go bend Margie’s ear (which, to be fair, is a pleasant thing to bend, except when she points out, with annoyingly frequent correctness, what I know I really ought to do about stuff that I’d rather just rant about).

(And, for what it’s worth, if you’re afraid you’re X in this blog entry, please be advised that I have a plethora of Xs I could rant about at the moment — and, even if you’re one of them, consider the reasons I’m not, vs. the nature of those I do actually get mildy ranty about, to wit, I do not want to offend, or that the personal cost of offending someone I care about is, to me, at the moment, far higher than the cost of not doing so. Besides, what makes you think it’s
about you right this moment, anyway? Cue Carly Simon … 🙂 )