Sunday, November 11, 2007

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi (ce soir)?

So, I was right. As my veins ran with infection, and my blood boiled with fever, I ended up going to the hospital and taking care of myself. Well, I went and they took care of me. My fever had spiked to about 104, and I really had no other choice. I'm feeling much better and I had a few ideas that wandered through my brain of things to write about while I was sitting there being pumped with antibiotics.

I used to carry around a little notebook, covered in clovers with me, wherever I went. It was my little doodle book, notebook, diary, book of secrets, or whatever you might call one of those things. Over time I had written tons of thoughts in there. Secret crushes. Romantic encounters. Arguments. So my little black (and green) book was always in my Prada bag that was thrown over my shoulder, and every once in awhile, I'd pull it out, scribbling something. My friends often wondered what I scribbled, but I never gave up the 'dish'. One day, this book vanished into thin air.

I looked high and low for this book. Under my bed, in my purses, pocketbooks, drawers, piles of clothes, under the dresser, and even in my kitchen cabinets and under the sink. This wasn't the only book like this I'd had. I have boxes of Composition books that I've written in on and off, over the years. But this book was different. It was a diary. It was my secret place. These were the days that I wasn't all that internet savvy and I honestly don't think blogger was around then anyway, but I've always had the urge to write. I didn't find it. It was MIA.

Two weeks passed and the book stayed fresh on my mind. One evening I was watching TV with my boyfriend and he nonchalantly asked me, "Who's Alex?" My heart stopped. I choked on the slice of apple I was swallowing and picked up my glass of water to try to drown out the dryness that had suddenly overtaken my mouth and throat. "Who?" I retorted, with a slight crack in my voice, my hand rising to clutch my neck, knowing exactly who he meant. "Alex. You know. The guy you you find irresistible." (I have to say, in my defense, that I often find people absolutely irresistible, but when I'm in a relationship, I'm completely faithful.) I wasn't worried that he'd figured out I was having an affair, because I wasn't; but I was worried about the fact that I complained to my little black and green friend that he wasn't satisfying me and I'd closed my eyes on more than one occasion and thought of, Alex. By now, I had managed to get up begin walking into the kitchen. I was speechless. I felt so guilty. A dizzy feeling was rushing through my head and body, and tears welled in my eyes. My face flushed hot and was probably a nice shade of crimson. My back was to him as I walked away, swallowing back those little chokes that come with the tears. I felt violated. These were my private thoughts. My private feelings, and I felt like he had betrayed my trust a hell of a lot more than I had betrayed his, just by peeking into my brain. The guilty feeling that had swept over me just moments before were replaced with rage and disbelief. Why should I feel guilty about expressing my private emotions out into a private place, meant only for my eyes?

I turned on a heel and asked him where the fuck my book was. He smirked and said he didn't have it anymore. The tears weren't welling in my eyes anymore. My hands were balled up in fists and tears were streaming down my cheeks. I cocked my head back and let out a cry that could've woken the dead. "You fucking asshole! Give me my book!" I was the modern day Carrie, only I wasn't covered in pigs blood and didn't get a tiara out of the deal. I think what upset me the most was him sitting there with a smug look on his face and this little smirk. A tiny smile that made his lips curl up on the side, just a smidge. I picked up the ashtray on the table in front of me and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the side of his head and I heard a nice *clink* sound. His hand quickly reached up to to rub his head where it struck, and yes, he was bleeding. Normally when I do something this impulsive, I run to the aid of whoever I flipped out on and profusely apologize, but in this case, I was looking for the next thing to throw. "What the fuck, S? What the hell is the matter with you? " he screamed, pulling his tee shirt off and holding it over the side of his head where the ashtray struck him. "I'm gonna need fucking stitches! God Dammit!" A warm feeling washed over me and I'm pretty sure I had the same look on my face he had just moments before that ashtray smashed against his head. So I scream at him again, in a stronger, more confident cry, "Where is my fucking book?" He reached into the sofa cushion right under him and pulled out my book. It had pages folded and a couple of post-it notes sticking out. I assume he had thumbed through it, page by page, marking things I'd written that he felt I needed to be confronted on. He didn't mention a thing. He had that defeated look in his eyes.

Needless to say, we broke up. I can forgive many things. I can forgive yelling, screaming, bringing another girl in for sex, bringing another guy in for sex, stealing my panties, hitting on my friends (as long as it's only flirting). I can forgive, leaving dirty laundry on my favorite chair, opening my mail, taking advantage of me while I'm sleeping, borrowing my deodorant, and leaving the toilet seat up. I can forgive, a lot of things. I think I'm fairly tolerant. Fairly liberal, but not in some Nazi feminist sort of way. But I can not forgive, cheating, spying, or betraying my trust. It's a short list, but one I stick to, most religiously.

I share my innermost secrets with you all that read this blog. It's sort of become my little black and green book. I love the feedback I get from people and I love feeling completely uninhibited. Thank you all so much for the well wishes when I got sick. I appreciate them so, so much.


  1. Just the thought of any of my family finding one of my private books, or of anyone else finding one for that matter, makes my stomach turn. I've broken up with someone in the past for stealing a notebook which only contained a draft of a story I was writing, I dread to think how I'd react if they tried to pry into any of the really private stuff.

    Actually, I'd say you didn't overreact at all. Seems fairly justified to me.

  2. firstly, that was a brilliant piece of writing girl!! you rock! secondly you should have picked up that ashtray and tried for a second hit, he deserved it!

  3. I hope the antibiotics work!

    I cannot imagine any worse betrayal than what your ex-boyfriend did. Your rage was justified.

    I have a journal that now encompasses 23 volumes. No one is to read it (except me) until after my death—and I’m considering putting a clause in my will that all of those volumes be burned without reading.

  4. brilliant post! I can't believe he had the nerve to be all confronting about it too...I'm glad you didn't feel bad about letting this asshole have it but i think you should have done more...let's hope those stitches get infected... =)

  5. I would have killed the Mo Fo! What a bastard for reading all of your private shit.

    You need to keep a damn boulder on your table just in case another asshole tries to dive into all of your personal stuff! It'll get a point across quicker than the ashtray did!

    You go girl!

  6. Firstly, you are damn stubborn. You should have gone to the hospital days ago! Hope you feel better.

    Secondly, I think he got off lightly if he only got a few stitches.

    Something like this is why I keep my most personal inner thoughts to myself. I don't even write it down. I would be horrified if someone ever saw into my mind. You are indeed brave. I salute you.

  7. Bunny, I actually have that fear about my blog, these days. Occasionally, my Mom will send me link to a blog that she heard was funny. It scares the shit out of me. She knows I keep an online blog, but I think, to be honest, she respects my privacy enough to not seek it out.

    Sweetass, Thank you! As for picking up the ashtray again, it would've meant getting within arms reach of him. He was pretty pissed and I was really fucking tiny. Didn't seem like a good idea at the time.

    Nick, I still have that black and green book, along with about 30 composition books that are tucked away for after my death. I think it'll be nice to have something that my family can read, and maybe let them know things about me they wouldn't normally have. There are certain ones that I would rather have burned. No one needs a legacy like what's in some of those

    The guy, Well, I don't know if his stitches got infected because he wasn't living with me anymore after that night. He didn't even get the make up sex. I can't believe I was ever with such a fucking asshole. I tried to look at your blog, but it's I'll give it another look later today.

    P.P., that ashtray was the closest thing to a boulder a girl could own. It was really, really heavy. I still amaze myself today that I could pick it up and hurl it as far as I did. He's lucky all he got were a few stitches.

    Glugster, I find writing therapeutic. I don't know if I could imagine not being able to jot down a thought as it appeared in my mind. As for going to the hospital, I know, I know. I actually felt semi-normal when I woke up this morning. That has to be a good sign!

  8. I would've done the exact same thing. You are 100% justified. A diary/black & green book is sacred.

  9. This was a fucking amazing piece or writing. I almost felt like I was right there with you. What an arsehole. I can only imagine what you felt. You did the right thing. I can't believe he thought he was going to confront you after he looked at your stuff!!

  10. i tried to leave a comment a few times let me try again. i forgot the password to my own blog so i'm posting as hannah again.

    firstly i hope you're feeling better. everyone was worried about you

    second i think it was a complete violation for him to go into your things like that. if it was me i wouldve probably done the same thing. actually i think id just run up like a crazy woman and start strangling him. some to think of it your idea was better.

  11. Great post - you're a good writer.
    A few thoughts:
    1. Glad you finally went to the hospital - I had a feeling you weren't getting better on your own.

    2. My Mom passed this onto me when I was a teen, and I passed it onto my kids, as well: don't write anything that you don't want anyone to see. If you need to write it down just to get it out - tear it up and throw it away when you're done.

    3. I threw a 2 lb. crystal ashtray at my ex-husband's head once, and I have to say it was one of the more satisfying moments of that marriage!

  12. you can't be in a relationship and keep a journal it's that simple, some fucker will always snoop. I never want to know what people really think about me. It keeps the allusion of being well liked alive.

  13. Oh that really sucks! I was violated in a different but similar way by a college roommate. When I finally figured out that the guy had been screwing with my head for months, we almost fought. It was pretty pimped out what I did. I just sat at my computer with my back to him, saying things to piss him off. I made it clear that if we were to fight, he was going to start it by punching me in the back of my head. He knew I would have torn him up, so he didn't. Ugh! That guy was a bastard. His side of the room was so messy, that when I was out of the room and he had his ladies over, he would actually screw them on my bed. So not cool!

    Sorry for the rant . . .

    So I'm curious . . . if you really get all that lovin' that you write about and imply, are you tested for STDs regularly? It is really easy to catch something these days!

    I'm glad they got your infection taken care of! What was the antibiotic that was making you sick?

  14. Ted, I doubt he'll do it again. I made it pretty clear that I might be little but I'm not to be fucked with.

    Scott, I don't know whether to be amused or offended by your little STD question. The only time I've written about having a sexual encounter on my blog a few posts back, and it wasn't even sex. So I'd love you know what makes you think I have so much sex. I consider many flings, but I'm very picky and choosy about who gets on top of me. And to answer your very personal question that was posted in public, I'm very safe. No diseases and no children.

  15. I must say. You do sound a lot better. It's amazing how your emotional and pysical state comes accross in your writing!

    PS. I have a few vitual ashtrays if you want to throw it at Scott!!

  16. I mean physical. Damn I hate this stupid keyboard!!!!!

  17. well if you hadn't thrown the ashtray i woulda volunteered to do it for you! i always have a notebook on me, and i have always kept a diary- and i would have been JUST as pissed had someone read mine let alone tried to confront me with what i'd written!!!

  18. That so sucks. I'm not interested in someone else's inner-most thoughts unless they want to share.

    I always say, if you go looking for trouble, you're going to find it. He certainly did. And he certainly got what was coming to him.

    Good for you.

  19. Ann, sorry I skipped your comment before. I had gotten a lot of emails asking me if I was still alive. Weird how blogworld works. Someone could drop off the face of the earth, and you'd never know. My journals are now packed away in boxes. I like to be able to go back and look at my thoughts. Tearing them up or burning them makes me feel like they never existed. As for your last comment...Did it make that special little clinking noise? I swear that's the funniest noise you'll ever hear.

    Glugster, I'm sure around here, my words alone would be sufficient. Thanks

    Angel, indeed. Everyone needs their outlet. It's not humiliating, because I've never been embarrassed about the way I think and feel, but it's more of a violated feeling. If I wanted to share shit with you, I would, right?

    Jen, thanks for the reassurance. I love coming here and seeing everyone agreed with me. :P

  20. That stupid bastard. What he did was unforgivable in terms of a relationship.

    P.S. Butt into my blog anytime. I welcome a new perspective on my life...


  21. Me be knowing what that feel like. Me 'other blog' be in semi retirement because me family found it and there were hell to pay about some things me wrote. When The Vixen "discovered" Me journals and read through them, she couldn't understand that the things in there were me fantasy; not reality. Both times me were put on the defensive. Mebbe me should have picked up an ashtray instead.

    Thankee youse fer sharing this.


  22. Jessica, thanks for letting me butt in and I agree. Completely unforgivable!

    Scary Monster, My last blog had to disappear as's a pain, I know. The vixen, hm? I'm lucky I didn't kill him. That thing was dreadfully heavy, and I doubt a jury would've been as understanding.

  23. Ok well first off yes it was inappropriate to scavage through what is obviously another person's personal musings.That being said however, don't all of us who come in to read SCG's wonderful blog actually, in a way, do the same thing? I mean, Simply puts her thoughts down and opens herself to all kinds of comments and opinions, many of which can be hurtful and insensitive at least. Of course this is an open forum and we're all just voyeurs with a voice here. S, thank you for sharing, you really should do this professionally. (Cosmo's calling)

  24. aaaah I cant believe he was arrogant enough to put post-its in there.
    I am jsut wondering if he deliberatly took it out your bag cos thats low

  25. Simply Curious,

    I am sorry. I guess my comment was rude. I didn't mean to offend you!

  26. Dave, I'm very careful about names and details in this blog because it is, in fact a lot of personal things that I don't think I'd want out without my anonymity shield. I like feeling like I'm sharing secrets with people that can give me honest, open feedback, without having to worry.

    Nos, Of course he took it out of my bag. I never, ever left that book lying around. Or any of them, for that matter. The post its honestly pissed me off just as much as the fact that he took it. It was bullshit. The nerve...

    Scott, I'll let it slide just this once. :P

  27. now that i think about it, i wish i had an anonymous blog. there are so many private things i'd like to hear a stranger's honest feedback on... :) i have a diary of my own as well, but it doesn't go out of my room. it's difficult to write about something personal in a class or just about anywhere; there will always be people looking at what you're writing intentionally or by accident.