Give Me the Meat, Instead (12/05/08 Friday)

Just a miserable day at work after two hours of sleep. Never spoke to Julie, and she only spoke to me to tell me the situation at backup, from which I was relieving her. Two cups of mate, one of green tea, and a tall, black Starbucks did a poor job of propping me up. Though it probably means nothing to Julie, I felt ashamed of my obvious avoidance of her. I'm still mortified to think of what she might have read. There is nothing in my words to be ashamed of, but they were never meant for her to read, and I performed the verbal equivalent of a Full Monty in front of anyone I didn't invite to read it. What she could know about me now nearly makes me physically sick. Yet, another reason I pulled the restrictions is to allow her to read it if she could possibly stomach any more of it. It may be difficult not to see her in the audience, but I need to block her and the rest of them out of my mind if I'm to maintain my candor. I'm torn between respect for Julie and my freedom of expression. But who's privacy was invaded here? Becky said it was fair for Julie to know about the blog because it was about her. I countered that, on the contrary, it was about me. She also considered the presence of Julie's voice to be grounds to involve her. I said nothing then, but now say, It was my conversation, as well, not a cup to the wall, and I reported it as best I could recall it. This blog is mine. I take full responsibility for what I say, and I try to be as fair as one perspective can be. I am not malicious, but I will say things from pain that I will regret later. Anyone can comment, but no one can ask me not to write. I have always wanted other perspectives on this. You know the perspective I want most, though.

Yet how soon will all that be moot? How long before that blind, cretinous beast, Attraction, loses its grip? I heard a few of the crew, all women, swapping stories of the intrepid fools who dared to ask them out and how they beat them off. Must be nice, I thought, to wield such power. "Nice" guys, all, I bet. Oh, no--no bitterness here! Hearing stuff like that makes dating, for men, seem an exercise in humiliation. When does a woman deign to give a man her attentions? I'll bet that even women as shy as myself will still wait for the perfectly confident man to come along and not empathize with the guy just as awkward as herself (because she doesn't like herself). And she can get that guy. I will not get that woman. Trying to predict the irony, I wonder what I will get, and how, but I can't recall what I've asked for or how I want to get it. Like I wanted to get Julie perhaps. How was that? I don't know; I wanted to win her in so many different ways that either the woman I do finally (and I mean finally) get will somehow come at me from every which way or just the one I considered the least likely. Whatever way that will be, I will be pantsed by irony.

I haven't forgotten about Jennifer, But I've cooled down to a more conciliatory temperature. I've decided to email her to invite her to talk. The tone must be serious but not frightening, compassionate but not yet forgiving, non-accusatory but not neutral. I want to convey that I was hurt and disappointed in her and would like to know why she did--or rather give her a chance to let me know what happened and how she came about the knowledge of my blog. I want to tell her that it hurts me to believe that she did what I suspect and that I would rather not believe it, but if it's true I'd like her to be honest with me. I don't know exactly what or how much I will say of the matter in the email, but I will be conciliatory. I may have an ax to grind but not a vendetta.

I had just begun to write this email, brain scorched with caffeine but still mostly cognitively inoperative, when Hinckley visited me on my second tour of backup. He whispered, "Angie sent me to give you this rather cryptic message: She told me to tell you 'not to worry'." That's all he knew, he said, except that in some form or another it came from Julie. My first interpretation was "no hard feelings," but he came back and told me, "off the record," what that meant. It was an irrelevant point, one that had Julie pursued would have brought trouble--from me--upon herself, and one with which she would have gotten no help from management, anyway. Nothing I didn't know, already. I told Hinckley I could have done without the elaboration. I'd felt good about "not to worry," but the next statement removed any trace of worth or resolution from it. I'd like to know in what form this conversation between Angie and Julie took. Who started it, and was it meant to convey information to me. Unless Julie's been reading the blog since this flap arose, she doesn't know that Angie is sympathetic to me. If she does know, then she needs to talk to me, not throw me a bone I'd long ago finished chewing.