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I’m Sorry, Who Found My Blog?

June 21, 2014

written on June 20, 2014

I walked into work this morning in a good mood. I smiled at everyone and got my coffee from the new café downstairs. Two of my co-workers were talking in the lobby. “Marie, we need to tell you something,” one of them said, calling me over. “Carrie found your blog.” Carrie is my former boss. The woman who hired me. What had began as a good relationship slowly turned weird and agressive. By the time she left I had been very frustrated with her and almost quit of that frustration. I vented about her in one of my blogs, in my usual, spur of the moment, method. I was less than kind.

“No one could possibly find it,” I said to Pickle a couple of years ago when I started writing this blog. “Yeah, right,” she replied. “It wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

Carrie found what I wrote about her, copied and pasted it into an e-mail and sent it to two of my co-workers and supposedly my boss, too.

My first reaction was, “Oh Shit!” I put my hand on my mouth as the wheels were turning in my head and I was trying to piece together what I had written. “Oh, Shit!” I said again as I sat down. And then I started laughing, imagining all the personal details I had revealed in my writing.

I rushed upstairs after calling a code red to another trusted co-worker and she stood behind me as I navigated the privacy settings of the blog. I switched the public setting to private. (I’m not sure anyone is going to be reading this.)

The freak out process was still in full swing. My co-workers were pissed. Not at me but at Carrie. What did she think was going to happen? That she would get me fired? That her old co-workers would rally to her side and against me. It was petty and childish. But not surprising. My co-worker forwarded me the e-mail. I read it and felt a flood of emotions, panic, regret, fear then relief. I mean, it was pretty bad. I wouldn’t want to read that about myself, but it was mostly about me, after all. It was typical self-examination. And nothing bad about my boss, thank God.

The truth is, I feel bad that she read about the negative opinion I had of her, especially written in the I-don’t-care-because-nobody’s-reading-this-shit kind of way that I write. She was rightfully hurt. But likely with no follow up self-examination. If I had read those things, eventually I would be asking myself, “Is it true? Am I really like that?” Hell, half my blogs are filled with such questioning. I’m not sure Carrie is asking those questions. When I think maybe it was mean to write those things, I remember what she was like in those days. I walked out of the office crying a couple of times. I didn’t know what she wanted from me, why she turned on me so quickly. I remember back then saying to one of my co-workers, “I don’t know if this is going to work out.” The truth is, she was really awful to be around and I didn’t know if I was going to stay there if I had to continue to work with her.

But that’s not an excuse to hurt someone.

Writing an honest blog has its risks, I guess. I speculated about this early on. Is it really ok to call someone you don’t know an orange tranny? Not really. Am I going to do it anyway? Yeah.

The morning went on and I processed this minor development with my co-workers and we laughed about it. By mid-morning I was saying, “You know what? People in the world have real problems. This doesn’t even come close.”

Later that day, my co-worker teared up as she confessed that her sister was in the middle of an eight-hour surgery to remove cancerous tumors. And she hadn’t gotten an update yet.

Yeah. Neither Carrie’s nor my panties getting into knots over a self-absorbed blog is important.

That being said, I’m going to read over wordpress’s privacy settings. Soon, this blog may have a new name and I might be losing my precious 100+ followers.

What I’m not going to do is stop writing as honestly as I know how. I need this blog. It’s cheaper than therapy.

Sorry Carrie. Don’t want anyone to say negative things about you? Stop being a bitch.


From → Rantings

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