I know, I know… He shouldn’t have been allowed entry into my virtual life again in the first place. There’s nothing equal to a man’s shabby conduct towards you to whack your self-respect and makes you want to hop into some therapist’s couch for three day-long sessions. But since I have no money, this invaluable blog is good enough. I’m glad mr.poet-cum-librarian cannot follow me here.
To continue: Stumped and stunned by that blog entry, I started writing “the letter” to mr. a%4h#le (which I ended up posting below). In all respects, I’d been nice towards him throughout the week. So how uncharacteristic of him to post such a thing. Oh yes, the attack to a cherished special dimension of my existence was upsetting to me.
The letter was sent to OLB — the blog only he and I had been sharing. There was no denial from him I was the target of his Clarita Estes’ entry. His response undeniably manifested of his resentment over my appeal he doesn’t comment on my posts — besides his recent realization I ain’t the erstwhile online gal of former times. Moreover, he was livid by my fore referring to men critical of unattached women while covertly begrudging their own marital status. I might’ve crossed the line, I guess; in view of the fact he wouldn’t let anything in his virtual realm tap on his actual personal life. Quite identical to how I feel upon his intrusion and disparagement of my parallel universe.
In truth, I repeatedly wanted out and be beyond the grasp of his tentacles. I stayed as far as I could and didn’t seek him at all, believe me. Out of the blue, he would message me about missing my friendship, lamenting of his perpetual sadness, and would give every indication over his fondness for my written enunciation and interest in my writing progress.
Regardless, there was never a friendship in a real sense. He simply couldn’t be there for me. Why then did he accord a tiny amount of time to me for two years?
Artists’ constant need for variety, for one. Second, he could’ve ran out of chatmates every now and then between moods of boredom and melancholy. Third, he said I was a wonderful storyteller and he did like my compositions. Allow me the treat to believe that. ha ha.
Anyhow, I could detect by a mile I didn’t belong to his A-list of online associates (he disclosed having a close circle of artists friends, writers, etc.). Hence, my “you couldn’t accept me as a friend” line. He was often in a rush during our conversation and was more absent than present. Again, a whacking thump to my esteem as I sort of bewail my inadequacies such as not being young enough nor intelligent enough nor artistic enough to merit his fellowship. In addition, “Be patient with me” had turned into his never-ending mnemonic. One time he got agitated, he made it clear our association could only prevail on his terms.
Sometimes, too, I wonder if he enjoys pushing my buttons. He went on with insensitive deeds he already knew could disappoint me. What do you call somebody who takes pleasure in hurting people’s feelings because it serves as a substantial boost to their ego?
Hey, in fairness, he’s not a bad man. Without question, he isn’t as dreadful as my other blog pals from yesteryears. Uh, by no means is he the sweet type of guy. But the librarian that he is, he has provided me some few poetry files and links, Percy Shelley’s archives among them. He’d given around half a dozen dot-dot advice throughout my poetic attempts on top of it all.
Just the same, he’s a typical man. Not that apart from all the rest.
Alright… No need to reprimand me. Yes I deserve what I got. This time I vow never to commit the same mistake, ever again.
Btw, he did finally erase our Tumbler blog OLB last night.
+++++ to be concluded ++++