As we all know, the main purpose of a blog is to provide a vehicle for the spewing of venom and hatred. Sure, we may try to mask it by predominantly posting about our take on current events, or using it to alert others to something we find amusing, or to let distant loved ones know how our lives are progressing. It’s all a grand misdirection, however … an e-sleight-of-hand, if you will. The brutal truth is that we all just want to hurt others that have hurt us, to scream out and let them know the suffering they’ve caused, but social norms and general guidelines of decency (and the occasional restraining order) keep us from doing so directly. And so we keep these things bottled up inside, simmering, building pressure, until eventually, something has to give.
Enter: the blog.
I find it somewhat akin to a diary, but not just one in which you write your innermost secrets and then stuff back under the mattress. That may delay your eventual meltdown, but ultimately, you’ve just transferred your frustrations to the physical world; on paper, tangible, outside your psyche … but still only yours. No, a blog is like a diary that you know your stupid sister* knows about, but doesn’t know that you know that she knows. Think about it … you can write anything – anything – about her, knowing that she’ll read it, knowing that the words will hurt, knowing that you’re inflicting wounds that may never heal. The best part? It’s her fault for reading it. My god, it’s ... it's perfect.
Hypothetically, for example, if someone like, say, oh, I don’t know, Susie McGraw was reading this, I could write something like “she thought she was so cool in 10th grade, even though she wasn’t really all that hot, and that stuff I said in that note I didn’t really mean, and I didn’t really have a crush on her, I was just trying to make her feel better, and even though she was a cheerleader, she was still fat. And ugly. And stupid. With a stupid laugh, even when she was laughing at a joke her stupid boyfriend told and not at other people who might have feelings. Oh, and BTW, Bart cheated on her with her best friend Jenny Stevenson one time like right before homecoming.” I mean, I know that would devastate her, but hey, I didn’t ask her to come read this blog. It’s her own damn fault if her life is now in shambles. Right? Right. Stupid Susie McGraw.
Oh, and to my distant loved ones: things are going well!
* Neither of my sisters are stupid. They're way WAY smarter than me, which makes it rather obvious how they found that stupid diary and how they knew that I knew that they knew. Also, they would know to use the singular "is" rather than the plural "are."
8 months ago