I managed to get through my childhood with no broken bones but in middle age have broken one ankle, strained a wrist and on Christmas evening on an after-dinner walk, broke the fifth metatarsal of my left foot. (Should I be giving out this many specifics?) It's been so long since I blogged comfortably that I'm no longer sure what constitutes a dangerous level of indiscretion.
One of the reasons I stopped blogging, besides getting very busy with adjunct teaching work, was that I felt too uncomfortable, almost shunned or shunted from the sphere. This emotion, familiar but hard to name, was thanks to the creepy lurking of a former beau from college days. We're talking the Nixon administration here. This man has been in touch off and on since the mid-1980s and the "relationship" shifted from an enjoyable dinner simply catching up with an old friend to a dishonest attempt at further contact (a letter on his employer's letterhead with that address.) An old hand at that game, I demurred.
Several years later another contact, also just this side of dishonest, some long conversations about incipient middle age (the early 90s) where I felt like a dial-a-shrink and was too dishonest myself (i.e., too nice) to demand an end to matters.
There's a point of no return in this sort of relationship where the point is reached without my recognizing it. I think, well, that was creepy or I'm glad I cancelled that dinner and I'll never accept another invite (he would pop up in Atlanta periodically) or that's done without saying too much, etc and up to don't call me and a furiously honest email to finally the trickery of using anonymous comments on a blog to connect. Oh, no. the last attempt was to purchase my editing expertise for his "writings." When it doubt, pay for it. Hopefully, he has found another hooker.
I'm taking back the blog.