It's been an interesting few hours in my head. No change externally, you understand - still the same unstyled blonde hair, glasses, eyeliner, Chanel No. 5 lass you know and possibly love (virtually or actually) - but my mind's been a-whirring like a spinning jenny on crack.
As I wrote yesterday, me and the guy I dated on Wednesday night exchanged a few emails; nothing much, you understand, just a bit of light-hearted banter. We were talking (harmlessly, I believed) about Googling people you've met, to see what comes up. And then, suddenly, around lunchtime yesterday, he vanished - and I haven't heard from him since. No big deal, I thought - maybe he's working, or maybe he's just not interested and wants to draw a line under it quickly. Meanwhile, I wrote my blog, confidently believing that, unless I had given him the address, or the name, or my Facebook account, the guy I'd dated wouldn't be able to find his way here.
But this morning, just to be certain, I Googled myself - first name, surname. And it turns out that a link to my blog is about fifth down on the list. Call me stupid, but I simply had no idea that this was the case. And, although there's a chance that he hasn't found it, I'm pretty sure that explains why he did a Houdini.
Part of me is fairly pragmatic about it - if he can't handle my honesty/candour, then it was never going to work out anyway. Part of me is aware that not everyone is as up front as I am. I'm pretty sure that if things were the other way round, for example, and I'd read something similar about myself, I'd be flattered: clearly I'm a lot less private than some people, and I can't deny that I would enjoy the spotlight of another's attention.
But all this has thrown up a fair bit of thinking about the nature of this blog. What is it for, exactly? Why do I write it? How honest do I need to be? I certainly don't want it to be attached to my name any longer on Google - for professional reasons if nothing else, I need to be able to complain about being coma-inducingly bored at work without worrying that a colleague can read about it and then report me to some higher power. So clearly it's time to go completely anonymous.
But, even with no names mentioned, is it wrong to write about my personal life? Perhaps I need to be more understanding of other people's need for privacy. My bare-all approach is clearly one of the things that I (and, I've been told, others) enjoy about this blog, and I know that previous boyfriends have enjoyed receiving coverage on these pages - but I understand that it's not everyone's cup of tea. Well, Mr South Africa, if I offended you, I'm sincerely sorry, that was never my intention. And to others in the past, if I've written something I shouldn't have about you, I apologise. Perhaps I screwed up - I'm still not sure. But this is me: I've blustered through 31 years on this planet, speaking loudly, sometimes without thinking, making mistakes, putting my size ten feet in it, but all the while, trying my absolute hardest at life, learning from errors, laughing when I can, attempting above all to have fun with this one life that I have been given, and not take things too seriously. Somehow I don't think I'm going to change any time soon.
Right - now that's off my chest, what else has been happening? I had a lovely dinner with Ness last night, lovely in the conversation and company department, less lovely in the nourishment department as I overcooked the poached eggs (disappointing), although I redeemed myself with dessert. My ankle is on the mend but is still painful, the Thai green curry at Pod is the most delicious thing in the history of takeaway lunches and I cannot WAIT for this weekend, when I'm off to the countryside to visit Nicole. The last time I saw her she had a two week old daughter - now she has three children in total, who arrived in such quick succession that I'm finding the whole thing rather confusing. Although possibly not as confusing as she is, I'll warrant. I am taking three bottles of Cava to celebrate the arrival of each of the offspring so that should lubricate us on our way down Memory Lane.
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