Something to avert my current job-seeking distraction. And a quick note on that, to all those who left me supportive comments and offered their help yesterday – thank you so much.
I've been meaning to write about the following for a while, and have finally put it into words after I was told, gently mind you, that I am certainly very different from how I come across in this blog.
I was told, over the weekend, that I can be perceived as “aggressive.” I've heard a few things relaying to my online character, but “aggressive,” fused with a bottle of wine, didn't go down too rationally.
Perhaps I do. I mean, this is a place where I can say 'fuck' a lot after all. It is also a place where I get to rant and rave about something that is annoying me – and afterwards feel sensationally better once the hectic bit of slothness has been spewed herein.
In case you take things like “drown me in a vat of tequila” quite literally, as much as I'd love to dive head-first into a reservoir of Cuervo Gold, it simply isn't feasible. (Maybe in Mexico though. I will look into it.)
I've heard this kind of sentiment towards my 'blog' personality many times before. People saying, “You're certainly not as hectic in real life, as I would draw from your blog ramblings.” My confidence was even questioned once, as in “Hang on...you're not the opinionated superbitch you come across as in your blog. Are you alright?” Well of course I'm alright. Sometimes, believe it or not, I'm just...normal.
Other variations of the above have included, “Isn't she just going to bite your head off?” and “Wouldn't touch that ('that' being moi) with a barge pole.”
Well looking through my archives, and reading back on the last three years, I wouldn't touch me with a barge pole either. If you've ever written a diary – especially during the most temperamental years of your life – and you've gone back to read through these, without feeling sheer appallation[sic], then you obviously haven't been as pissed off as I have been before. Good for you; you're probably on Grade A sedatives.
Diaries, and blogs especially, shouldn't be sources on which to base an entire person's character. As much as this blog is me, and as much as I throw my life up here, it's still only a piece of my somewhat complicated character. The other pieces of me aren't available for human consumption in this public domain, I'm afraid.
Because writing about how great my food tastes isn't particularly therapeutic – most of the time, it's usually a post involving a fair amount of swearing and opinionated vulgarity.
Blogs – gotta love 'em. For the (almost) freedom of (almost) speech alone.
I don't blog because I want to make new friends. I blog because it's my (fucking) catharsis.
Sometimes, I'm the girl at the edge of a party looking on. Sometimes I actually have nothing to say at all. Sometimes I'm the one feeling more vulnerable than anyone else. There was that one time when I didn't sing karaoke, back in 2001, after all.
Other times, I just wanna drown myself in a vat of tequila.