One big reason I turned the comments off in those previous few posts here where I’m letting my heart bleed all over this blog, is that I didn’t want my friends and regular readers getting into it with the assholes I just knew those posts would attract.  Like the one that sent me a longish missive last night about how he didn’t give a damn and didn’t see why anyone else should either, because having read my life story here, he could see so clearly that I’d brought all my problems on myself.  And since I’d turned off the comments to the posts he was referring to, and he just couldn’t bear to send it to me in email like I’d asked, because then nobody else would have seen how profound his thinking on the subject was, he tried putting it on one of my other posts here with the comments still turned on.  Let’s hear it for spam filters.

Actually nitwit, you Do give a damn…otherwise you wouldn’t have written that long, rambling, misspelled, babbling, incoherent message.  Someone who really didn’t give a damn wouldn’t have bothered.  They’d have just…you know…not given a damn. I’d never have heard from them.

But I heard from you.  And in the spirit of cheap barstool psychoanalyzing someone you only know from a few words on a computer screen, methinks you protesteth too much.  What I wrote got under your skin didn’t it?  Seems to me like there’s probably someone in Your past, with a wound on Their heart with Your name on it, and you’ve been spending the rest of your life ever since you put it there trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t your fault and you don’t have to give a shit.

Fine.  We all have our coping mechanisms.  And they say a lot about who we are inside.  I appreciate the "tough love" stuff and all guy, but you know, there are fates sadder then the one I was contemplating back there.  I’d rather care too much and bleed myself to death then stop giving a damn and end my life as an asswipe whose companionship is like drinking turpentine. 

If my bleeding heart emotionalism really really irritates you…good.  That means there’s still something human left inside of you.  Try to find it someday.

Oh…and you were wondering if the people I write about know that I’m writing about them?  Duh…it’s a blog…  Everyone can read it.  If they don’t know, it’s because they don’t give a damn, which is what you said they were supposed to do.

And writing about my past is the least of what’s been going on around here…