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putting out

Last Saturday evening, I sat in my friends S. and St's kitchen, sipping on a glass of bourbon and discussing how far we'd come in the past ten years. S. had been a friend of my evil ex-aunt; both of us had come to the conclusion that we needed to rid ourselves our her toxicity at the same time. S.'s husband St. was a guy she had met in a bar who wasn't supposed to be more than a momentary distraction and ended up being her husband and one of the best people I've ever met. Let's just say that if I had to pick fifteen people for my lifeboat, rest assured these two would be on it.

We were talking about the slack and my livejournal, and how my life has changed since starting both.

I knew you before the slack, S. said.

You're one of the few, I responded.

I have to say, sometimes you post and I just cover my face and think, oh, Nina.

Yeah, I smiled, I'm a bit revealing. It's just my way.

I wrote last week

there's something ultimately freeing about putting it out there. Hurt, disappointment, and depression all lose their sting when spread out amongst a thousand different people. Success and joy are much more sweet when shared with the same audience.


But there's more to it than that. I've always been a person who feels things intensely. An offhand remark might bounce around my brain like a game of Pong. Eventually they coalesce into larger bricks of thought that are ultimately paralyzing.

Putting these thoughts out here takes away some of their power. If I can tell someone, then it's not so scary. If I can write about in a public forum, then it's no big deal. If I can share it, perhaps it'll do some good.

I am philosophically naked on the Internet. It's not a bad thing.

When I start dating someone, I don't offer up the slack right away. There's too much information to digest, and it could seduce someone into thinking they know me without really knowing me. I don't share everything. Each week's article are bits and pieces strung together, everything placed just so and posed for a snapshot of the week. I don't download every thought, every action. Even reality shows aren't reality.

Which is why this week I was shocked at a response to a post I had made.

Tell me something you think I should know, I wrote.

Someone responded

Don't much care for the new exploitation of your sexualness and stuff. I think you are putting it out there in hopes that A is reading it.

And continued...

Okay, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I don't think you and A were that good of a fit. A close fit maybe, but not the perfect fit....I think of you as a kindred spirit.

And continued...

I'm not offended by the sexual talk. I'm all for juiceyness! Maybe I'm just not used to it coming from the SlackMistress. Kinda makes her seem cheap, and I never viewed her that way. Like a tacky dress. It just didn't seem to fit or look right. Sorry.


I should state that I don't know if these all came from the same person, as all the comments were anonymous. However, it makes me wonder what has this person been reading? Over the past nine years, I've written more than one article about sex. They weren't purely theoretical treatises.

I responded to one of the comments

If I really thought A. was reading, I wouldn't write about at this all. Because in my fucked up mind, if he knew that I hadn't moved on, if the thought ever crossed his mind that he would want to come back, then he's know that I was still here and available and in love with him.

I wouldn't write about it, because it would mean that THERE WOULD BE A CHANCE THAT WE COULD GET BACK TOGETHER...A. is not coming back. He's not. And that really sucks... I'm just having some fun. Or am I supposed to done a hairshirt and sit, looking out the window?

BECAUSE HE IS NOT COMING BACK.

I exist in reality. I am a three-dimensional person. I go to the grocery store. I pay my bills. I putter in the yard. I take out the garbage. I feed the dog.

I am not a superhero. I am not famous. I am not someone to put on a pedestal.

If you think that I am special, or that I am to be looked up to, or that I know what I'm doing, then thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. But remember that I am a person. I am more than words on a screen. I am someone who makes plenty of mistakes, and muddles through the best way that I know how.

If you think that I am an idiot, or ugly, or bad writer, well, you can be right too. And I thank you for being here and reading this, because I am cheap that way.

I am 33. I am nursing a broken heart. I am busting my ass trying to find a new writing gig. I am trying to do some good. I am getting back into shape. I am having a bit of fun. I am constantly evolving.

I am doing the best I can.

I am putting it out there. Because putting it out there is what I do.