It hurts. IT feels weird. There are sutures. I think we've disucssed this before. Take two.
Vaguely unsettled, there's a guy.
There's never been one before like this, but there is now, and not in a good way. Vaguely freaked. Will probably never discuss this again, because there's this strange feeling of familiarity in what he's doing.
What's really getting to me was a moment of pure stupidity when I gave him my main email. I'm not untraceable by any means, just usually a hell of a lot more careful, but it just didn't occur to me that this was going to be one of those times where someone's actually interested *in* me. It's not that I care about content--he knows, hell, half the world I deal with daily knows I have a thing for the internet and writing, though not specifics. If he found my webpage and decided to print up one of my less tasteful bits of porn and make copies for the entire office, I'd be amused as hell, as long as it wasn't one of the ones with that horrible spelling mistake that I can't ever remember to fix. That's not what's getting to me.
The privacy thing really, really is.
Like--put it this way. When I had my own dorm room, I used to get damned freaked when people--groups of people, even--would just drop by without warning and without knocking. I got used to it, but I never encouraged it, even when I was feeling lonely. It was *my* space. It was my room, my territory, and damned if you come anywhere inside without my permission. Neurotic, you better believe it, but there we go. Later, when I had a roommate, I used to spend inordinate amounts of time around campus in small, concealed spaces to read or just think--and really, really hated it when people stumbled over and dropped down to chat. Not all the time, but there was always that vaguely crawling sensation that said, go away. I didn't ask, I didn't invite, stop and leave me alone.
When I was pregnant, I hated when people touched me like it was some God-given right to check out the fetus in the body. Hated it with a passion I can't even describe. After he was born, hated the fact that suddenly I had endless numbers of visitors who wanted to paw over him constantly and ask me personal questions about things which were none of their concern. That wouldn't leave me alone in body or head. Hated hated hated. He was mine, this was mine, and yes, I might share information, but on my own terms. And being made to feel bad because I wouldn't just didn't sit well with me. Even my family didn't get it, and I couldn't ever really explain the instinct that made me want to keep some things to myself and not others, and they never quite have understood the difference between being given the choice of sharing and being forced to share. When given the choice, unless I have a damned good reason not to, I will. When forced? Problems arise.
Which brings me to the here and now. This is my space, my life online, my identity, my toybox. I don't want him here. This isn't part of anything I want to share, just mine, and I choose who I share it with.
It's unreasonable, and I'm aware that three clicks or less of my email addy in google will redefine what a lot of my coworkers know about me--but the thing is, none of them would be motivated to do it, or be that interested in it if they did happen across. And if they did? Again, it comes down to the why they would. And for them, their motivation might be curiosity, and I can handle that. I don't like it, but it's not something that will keep me up very long either.
He--has motivation that isn't simple curiosity. And I gave him a shortcut to finding out more about me than I want him to know. Before anyone says it, yes, I know, penalty of the internet, the information age. Yes, I know. I know the litany. That doesnt' make it any less uncomfortable. My family knows because I chose to share it, not because they did a search up to figure out what I was doing. My friends know because I told them and invited them to have access. If my coworkers stumbled across something and asked? I'd tell. I've never been ashamed of what I do. Whether or not it's reasonable, whether or not it's even possible, I want to keep that choice of telling.
*sighs* I'm unreasonable tonight.
So I had this idea. To make a handout explaining how to use the internet for job searches. Earlier this week, the computers at work caught The Virus That Is Really Damned Annoying, and I had time on my hands. So I drew up an outline to make a handout.
Now I'm just realizing that explaining is way, way harder than, say, actually DOING. I mean, how do you explain it? Click on IE icon. Type in address. Hit enter. I mean, it seems easy enough to me, but I'm helping peopel who don't regularly use a computer. I'm trying to keep it simple--an explanation of how to use the internet, the top three search engines and how to use them, and a list of links to websites that have job things on them, like the Governor's Job Bank and Austin360. You know, make it simple, so to speak. I got permission from one of the supervisors to do so. Life is good.
The handout I did on pregnancy seems to be okay--I handed it out in pilot form to three women who asked for services that just happened to be listed on there. Very nice. Pleasing, even. I wish I could get my hands on a really high quality printer and do a few really excellent ones to copy off of, but oh well.
For the first time since I landed on the internet, I'm a girl without a fandom.
It's really, really freaksome. I am, have always been, a serial monogamist, with a fling or two for spice. Voyager, X-Men, Smallville. Het to het and slash to slash. With kicks of Witchblade and Spiderman in there just because they hit me right. Fandom is the means of social communication in fictional format, or basically, how I get inspired to write fanfic. Apparently, I was absolutely right when I say I need the social component. Without it, I'm not going to get a fannish word on the page. I suddenly can write originally faster than expected, or really wanted, but fandom's been how I took out my stress. Original writing IS stress, work is stress, my family is stress, and hell, even my friends can be a kind of stress. The balance is completely off.
Okay, so you'd think this is depressing, but I do get a kick out of being really, really right about myself. I so rarely am.
No, QaF doens't count. QaF is like whipped cream and ice cream combined, and I'm still very, very high on it. I have no idea how it'll burn or how long. And besides, I can't find ANYONE to sit around mocking badfic and extolling goodfic with me, dammit. God knows, I've bored Bethy and Pru and Celli to tears muttering about the wonderfulness of Brian.
And technically, I have no intention of leaving SV--i just want a hiatus for a bit so I can stop soaking up so damned much of it every second and just relax.
*sighs* I'm not relaxing. Gah.
The Color Series by Triskyfic. I had to think a lot about this one, since the theme thing going through it was sometimes distracting, but a few re-reads, it became less so and the story's solid and fun to read. I've done five re-reads--usually, at this point, I have to say I really enjoy it. A lot.