If the Horse Would Just Stay Dead, I Might Understand the Futility (5/19/09 Tuesday)

Several days before I resumed writing, while Julie was on vacation, Judy sat me down, concerned about my mood. I spilled my guts about Julie, grateful to have someone show some concern. Turns out Judy has been a fan of the blog since shortly after I introduced it and has read it through twice. She was glad to have been on vacation the week the blog hit Julie's fan. Anyway, I told Judy about the cold-shoulder wars going on and how I intended to force a confab with Julie about it. (It was not my imagination, apparently, that created the tension in the workplace during the war; Judy felt it, as well, and there was no way we were the only ones, especially given the workplace readership of the blog--as if my demeanor weren't clue enough to the disharmony.) Judy asked me how I would go about it, and I told her virtually the same thing I said to Julie the next week, only when I said, "'It hurts'," I was close to tears. Judy wanted to know if I thought it would be better if Julie and I were no longer scheduled together on the desk, and I swiftly and emphatically answered, "No!"

Clumsy exordium aside, I just wanted to say Tammy may finally have gotten the message, because I had another hour with Julie yesterday. Our entire conversation was, Julie: "Is the hold date the twenty-second?" and, me: "Yes." It was easier to tolerate than Saturday's hour, but no more satisfying, though what I even wanted I have no idea. I worked a little on Straight Read, adding another retrospective comment or two, didn't care if she saw it.

Julie's still giving me these exaggerated wide berths. The first one was amusing, but I've regarded each subsequent avoidance with increasing annoyance, though I've not allowed it to manifest in expression. I don't know what she's about with that, but for my part, I'm not playing. When she is not aware of my approach, I pass her as closely as I can. I don't know what it means to her to know how I feel about her, but she doesn't seem to be living with it as well as I am. That's not to say I've adjusted all that well. I may always be envious of anyone with whom she chats, and I'm still quite conscious of her presence in any shared space, no matter the size. I still want to impress her. But I do not spend every moment there thinking about her. I'm relieved when there are others around to talk to, and I'm talking a lot more with everyone but Julie. I'm not avoiding conversation with her, but what is there to say that doesn't seem shallow compared to what I've said and would rather say? And what would she care to hear it? Perhaps no more than I'd care to say it.

As I was returning with an empty DVD cart, Scotia motioned me to the circ desk behind which she sat. "Is this Bright, Ironic Hell your blog?" "Yes." Far from concerned, I was defiantly amused. "Dude," she said, "you might want to clear the history all the way," and she swept a hand across the counter as if knocking over chess pieces. I said, "I don't care. It's not news. Everybody knows about it." "I didn't know about till now." I just shrugged. "I really don't care about." I left it at that, though I would like to have asked her how much she read and what she thought of it, but that would only have been a salve to my vanity.

I'm nagged by the feeling that I may be trying to provoke something again. I have to keep a check on the feigned insouciance; it could talk me into some stupid things if I let it have its way. I will always maintain that the blog is about me and I have a right to recount my interactions with others. How far can I take that right? How much is mine? Julie wanted our conversation to be "outside of work," but how much less so has it become since I posted it on the internet, knowing there are readers at work? I have no intention of embarrassing her--she knows that--but is this some form of "unwanted attention"? Julie sat at that desk today before Scotia. Did she look at the blog? But to think about that is to want her to have, and to want that is to want a reaciotn. Am I not over even that petty hope?