At some point during which i was surely raving about my website and how much fun i have writing for it and meeting people through it, Elise decided to set up house on BlogSpot, though she didn’t tell me about it until i mentioned something to the effect of that she could only get sexier if she — in addition to being incredibly intelligent, acting as an op on a MUDD via telnet, and playing a bit of guitar — had a blog. Of course she did, because her sexiness rates off the scale, and she’s actually had some really sparkling moments of blogging in the month she’s been writing so far. Funny anecdotal entries from math class, reminiscences reminiscent of the stylings of Martha & Rabi, and entirely flattering opposite-view accounts of things i’ve mentioned us doing here.
Without much discussion we decided that my linking to her, via sidebar or upon any mention of her name, would result in too much strangeness to be worthwhile. As such, our two respective blogs exist in entirely separate universes… while hers is anonymous in name and design, mine is here for all to see along with over a year of context, songs, and occasional photographs. Somewhere in that distinction, i have found that i rely on her accounts of our collective life to remind me of what has gone by rather than my own. My reluctance to air actual personal details aside, i am simply uncomfortable with making more than an obscure mention of a day spent in New Hope, marathon sessions of Secret of Mana, and her having fallen asleep in my bed.
I can peg this reluctance for you exactly; it’s a fear of us winding up anything like Selina and i did last year. Rereading entries from the two months we were dating reveals a sickening half-and-half mixture of short-sighted starry-eyed rambling and oddly prescient airings of my complaints. As the relationship lurched towards its final implosion what i said on the page turned my actual words and emotions into something akin to a third wheel — i was trapped between half-fictionalizing what was happening only to be held to the letter of what i said, or relating it in actuality only to be skewered for saying what i felt.
Of course, i can’t honestly compare a healthy and happy relationship to whatever it was Selina and i were drifting through last winter, but with that as my only other experience i’m sometimes left unable to do anything but that. If i had three or five or ten girlfriends’ reactions to my page to go on, i would be less hesitant to chronicle more of my current daily life here. But, i only have one perspective, and a skewed one at that, which means i’m left reading sparkling details of what i’ve been doing with my life over on BlogSpot and i can’t even give you a link to them so you know where i’m coming from.
Watching favourites Shaun and Alison battle with personal disclosures lately has inspired little faith on my part, but the different enthralling ways that they describe those experiences have lead me to realize that if i don’t talk about them at all i’m not only cheating myself, but i’m not being interesting at all.
Speaking of not being interesting at all, i can’t believe you just read all of that :p . Or, am i all wrong; is it not the obscured mentions or the explicit ones that interest you, but instead my inner-turmoil on the matter? I suppose i’m just stuck on how to best portray this particular crushing aspect of my life to you. Dare i ask… any thoughts?