April 17, 2000
Night and Day, Baby ... Night and Day.

 


 
That's the difference between *Sluggish Cranky Zombie Secra,* yesterday ... and *Annoyingly Perky Super-Secra,* today.

Night and day.

It didn't take much.  A pleasant evening with David ... a hunk of chocolate chip cheesecake ... a rousing game of Yahtzee, followed by six blissful uninterrupted hours of sleep ... and I'm a new woman.

I woke up feeling SO much better this morning, in fact, you've got cheesecake on your teeth that I'm doing something I haven't done in ages:

I'm smiling.

It feels very strange. My lips aren't accustomed to being stretched in these odd new directions. My teeth feel dangerously *exposed.* Whole muscle groups in my face are getting an unexpected work-out.

My tear ducts are complaining that I'm *ignoring* them. ("Yo! Secra! Peel an onion or something, wouldya?!")

Best of all? People have been looking at me funny all day long. Lobby Security Guard Guy was visibly startled when I beamingly thanked him for the newspaper this morning. Grumpy FedEx Delivery Lady practically jumped out of her skin when I held the door open for her. And my co-workers have been tiptoeing past my door all afternoon, casting wary looks in my direction. I guess they've grown accustomed to seeing me face-down in a box of Kleenex.

"Are you feeling OK?" asked Pauline from Accounting.

"You know what, Pauline?" I replied. "I'm actually feeling better than OK." And I did some more of that lip-stretching/teeth-exposing stuff at her ... just to scare her a little.



Speaking of co-workers ...

An insightful reader wrote to me yesterday afternoon. "If you were to go and work at the Alameda company, wouldn't you be constantly worried because you know one of your coworkers reads your journal??" she asked me.

I happened to be sitting in front of the computer when her e-mail landed, so I wrote back to her immediately. 

"That's a very good question," I said. And I told her that the fact is ... I don't know how I would handle it.

"There are people at the Totem Pole Company who read me every day, and it's never been a problem. We'd just have to wait and see," I said. And it's true: I've given the URL to four or five people here in the office, over the course of the past year or so. There have been no repercussions to speak of ... so far. (Except maybe for Junior Engineering Guy, who wanted to know if I really let Franz stay with us at our apartment for the weekend: I think he was miffed because HE wasn't invited.)

But taking a job someplace where I already have a built-in audience? Would that make me uncomfortable or self-conscious or unduly weirded-out? 

I don't know.  Let's burn THAT totem pole when we come to it.

"Besides," I told her, "I try not to be 'constantly worried' about who reads the website, anyway ... otherwise, I would never post anything at all."

Again, it's the truth. If I worried about all the co-workers and ex-spouses and former romantic partners and old classmates and previous employers and onetime Downstairs Neighbor Guys and King County Library System employees who may or may not be reading this website ... I'd be writing about weather ALL the time.

AND I'd probably be calling myself "Ishmael."



 
In the meantime ... [clearing throat in embarrassment] ...

... I made a huge tactical blunder yesterday that I need to apologize for, here and now.

I was so thrilled, and flattered, and reassured, and full of myselves, and buoyed emotionally by my new friend Amy's e-mail, the other day  --  that long, wonderful letter all about her problems with The Co-Worker from Hell --  that I broke one of the cardinal rules of Internet journaling.

I posted her e-mail on the website without her permission.

Technically, I did write to her in advance and ask. I thanked her for her wonderfully life-affirming letter, and told her how much it meant to me, and asked her if it would be OK to use parts of it on *FootNotes* ... offering to delete the more personal stuff, of course, and to change her name. But when the time came for me to upload my journal entry last night and I still hadn't heard back from her --  during the 4.6 minute *window of opportunity* I had for uploading, while we waited for the potatoes to boil  --  I took the plunge and posted it anyway. Without her blessing.

And that was a bad thing to do. A very very bad thing.

I know better.  And I'm sorry.

Sometimes I forget that not everybody who is a part of my personal life automatically wants to be a part of my *hanging-the-unmentionables-on-the-Internet-clothesline* life. And that even though *I* may not worry about all of the co-workers and ex-spouses and former romantic partners and old classmates and previous employers and onetime Downstairs Neighbor Guys and King County Library System employees who may be reading the stuff I write here ... some of my unwilling *co-stars* might.

(Hey! Maybe I ought to start calling everybody "Ishmael!" It might be safer that way.)

Anyway. I'm heading off now for another evening of cheesecake and Yahtzee. And yeah, I'm still smiling.

Are my face muscles going be sore in the morning or what?


self-important blurb #1 will go HERE: yeah, i know. the "politics" of internet journaling isn't the world's most fascinating topic ... especially to those of you who aren't internet journalers. it's like reading about me writing about me writing about me.

[yawn.]

*special offer!* *special offer!* *special offer!*
send me a long, personal, heartfelt e-mail filled with your innermost thoughts & secrets ... and YOU, too, can become a part of the *footnotes* family!

[whether you want to or not!]

i am genuinely sorry, "amy." please forgive me.


fifteen years ago

here's where i'll ask a *relevant* question:
if i write about *you* on the website, what would you like me to call you?

if it's "celine dion" ... i don't wanna hear about it.


amazingly profound thought of the day: "Never ruin an apology with an excuse." ~ Anonymous ~



previous
archives
*footnotes*
next
throw a rock