If you look around a minute, you might notice a thing or two missing.
Or, well, about 544 things.
Every post I’ve ever written – poof. Gone. Vanished into the ether.
Not deleted. Just set to private.
Because it came to my attention today, in a very forceful fashion, that I’m not safe here. Just like I’m not safe at work, or at home, or at the grocery store, or at a Cub Scout meeting.
A restraining order is just a piece of paper, after all. A flimsy remnant of a dead tree, that tells one specific person how to behave, or not to behave. It doesn’t mention their family, or their friends, that get sucked into the whole sordid story with what pass for good intentions.
I was told today, in a very forceful fashion, that this blog is harmful. To me, to my son, to other people in our lives. I was told that it was unnecessary; that I shouldn’t want or need it.
I was told, officially and officiously, to sit down and shut up.
This is my temporary concession to that instruction, but I never have been very good at doing as I am told.
I’ll be reviewing each post I have ever written, individually. Every word I’ve ever archived here under my little illusion of anonymity. Those that seem innocuous, safe enough, superficial enough, will get reposted publicly. You know, the ones that can’t possibly misconstrued to have been about you, or you, or even you.
The rest will just have to stay buried beneath the rubble that is all that I’ve left of my privacy and my dignity.
Watch this space, kittens. I never did know when to just lay down and die.
Oh, and P.S?
No one would have ever known that they were about you, until you started screaming it out loud, in public.