Blocking and unblocking

Today I did something kind of stupid. Not that I never do, but this was a different kind of stupid.

Nemesis posted an entry a few weeks ago that mentioned something that we are both fans of, and I replied a few times in a playful way, inside-joking and all that. A few hours ago, I heard some news about that thing and hurried excitedly to post it under her comment section on her blog, not noticing that I was still logged in Wordpress as SatanPridefulDiner. After realizing this, and after googling "removing comments from wordpress", I realized that I couldn't simply undo what I had done.

The countdown had begun: Nemesis was about to arrive home and she isn't supposed to know about all this... I mean, she knows I blog, but I have never told her where it is because it might affect my "catharsis" in a bad way. So I began doing the only logical thing I could do without actually thinking first: I started password-protecting every entry (Hogad), and I moved my blogger blog to a super secret site (I know).

When she arrived, I told her what had happened and she hurried to check it out, to find it... well, password-protected entries. What started playfully as a 'Imma find your password' game, started getting a bit more serious, and then I realized I don't need to keep this shit away from her. This is the EMOest part of me, but it's still me so, if she ever decides that she wants to give us a try, she should know about all the sides of me. So I started removing every password while she was giving me an "I don't give a fuck, I don't have the right to be pissed anyway!" attitude and typing quite loudly.

Before she even checked my blog again, she made a post about it to vent a little bit. I didn't really care anymore about her reading my blog, or about her venting about everything (lord knows she vents a lot), but I did care about the whole "I don't care" attitude because, frankly, I want her to care.

Accepting her reading my stuff is the ultimate frontier for me; I know it's absurd, but I didn't want her to read all this because it could undermine my own self-expression (and yes, I sound like a 1970s cliched feminist hippie), and I needed to say what's going on without thinking that she might be reading it. That was my mistake.

Jumping from a plane without thinking about it is easy; is knowing that you could die and jump that's valuable. If I can't say (write) these things to her face (screen), I'll be stuck in a semi-repressed state that won't allow me to fully deal with this.

So here it is: Nemesis, this is me. Blog, meet Nemesis.