Compromised

I feel like this blog has become compromised by too many people knowing it exists. As I sat through Mike reading it next to me, I wondered if maybe I had gone too far, reached a critical mass. Self-indulgence is one thing, but does everyone have to see it? This is the struggle of the private-exhibitionist. I write knowing that certain people are reading, of course, how can one not be aware of a potential audience? I also write knowing that certain people are not, like my mother, because if they were, the editing would become so obscene that I couldn't keep it going.

I always intended this to be a diary of sorts, to be a place where I could collect my thoughts and go back to remember where I had been. Especially since these days, I can't remember last week, let alone last month. I have often contemplated changing my format, and I think that my next 'chapter' of sorts will be more public-friendly, less self-indulgent and generally more widespread in its dissemination.

It hit me harder than it ever has before, last night, that I have said things on this blog that certain people shouldn't be reading. The individuals with pseudonyms spring to mind here: Roomie, Apartment Boy, Curly, to name a few. And despite the fact that they are aware that I keep this running commentary, none of them have ever pushed me to show them. But here I am, and seeing as how Curly is now aware that this goes on, I am compromised in what I write tonight. Can I write it and just say no to him if he asks to see it? Or should I keep things quiet and play safe just in case things come out?

I will choose the latter, but exercise subtlety. Indeed, its been a tightrope walk already with the current crowd. Howdy everyone, hope you're having fun down here in my psyche, she's practically bursting with opinion.

Highlights? Indeed. Yesterday at work I was in a foul mood. Pair a bad, cold morning with serving people and you have me, irate, and dealing with morons. One particular moron approaches me holding two rolls of packing tape (to buy) and a large stack of about two hundred post-card sized club pamphlets. The very same that litter my streets, waste my paper, are annoyingly thrust towards my chest as I walk peacefully through the gates, and tend towards depicting women in an inappropriately sexualized manner. A certain poster for Le Swimming's Halloween party springs to mind. Anyways. I loathe these posters. Along with SUVs and mini-carrots, they are symbolic of everything that is wrong with our society. And you can get my mini-carrot rant later. So I politely informed him(and I swear, honest to God truth, I was polite, because you all know me very well) that I had a moral objection to selling him the tape and my coworker would be happy to help him. He freaked out on me and stormed out of the store. Another job well done, I mentally dusted my hands and smiled. As I've said a million times: what are they going to do? Fire me? With only two months left? Shyeah, right. And monkeys might fly out of my butt.

My quasi-date with Mr. CS progresses, now having an amorphous time in mind (next Monday, woot) and hopefully I will have recovered from Saturday enough to go about my business. Although this week seems to have been a bit of a bust thus far (beer pong last night was far too full of first years for my liking) and tomorrow might not go down due to my progressing illness (gotta beat it before the weekend), next week is shaping up. Just have to write my paper and I'm golden.