Enemies
I like to think I don’t have many enemies. Plenty of people who dislike me, I have never doubted, and even more who disagree with me on some point or other, as is their perfect right… but not many who would go out of their way to cause me hurt. Maybe I’m wrong, but I do like to think that.
Found one, though, in my referrer logs today. Kind of an enemy-by-proxy, but there’s not much doubt in my mind he despises me, and would go to some lengths to cause me trouble. Non-physical harm, I fully believe, but harm nonetheless. And he’d go to considerably greater lengths to hurt my husband.
Long story, as these stories always are. I’m not going to tell it. Some of it isn’t mine to tell anyway. And it’s not worth it, as I’m not asking for sympathy or side-taking here, and the story in its entirety is so ugly that telling it would do little other than raise my heartrate, which is already hitting the stratosphere as a result of seeing that link.
Not out of anger, mind you. I confess I don’t have a great deal of respect for the actions of the individual of whom I write, nor for his character insofar as his writings reflect it, but I don’t hate him. Most of the time, indeed, he simply doesn’t matter. And I wouldn’t lift a finger specifically to hurt him; I just wouldn’t.
It’s just a decidedly weird and unpleasant feeling, knowing for certain that someone ill-disposed toward me, and highly ill-disposed toward David, is reading my weblog on a consistent basis. It makes me understand why David doesn’t often post here, restricts himself to the veriest trivia when he does, and gets nervous when I so much as mention him.
Rough world. Can be, anyway. Why invite further roughness? Why blog, if it only becomes a weapon in this man’s hands?
Eh. Because if I start regulating my actions by him, I might as well shut myself into a hermetically-sealed padded room this instant. There is nothing public David or I can do that this individual wouldn’t turn against us if he could. Nothing. He wants to see us unhappy just that much.
So I take a deep breath, and wave at him (hi!) because I’m pretty sure he’ll recognize himself, and realize that there really isn’t much, if anything, in CavLec that’s terribly damaging—or, at least, that’s damaging beyond what I deserve; some of what I write indeed merits hard knocks, and generally gets them.
There. That’s better. A little, at least.