I’ve never been a very popular person. Part of that is due to my somewhat, ahem, abrasive nature. To put it bluntly, a lot of people think I’m a bitch.
But I’m really not. I’m just awkward. Basically, I’ve had my foot planted firmly in my mouth for the majority of my life. Try as I might, things come out of my mouth when I don’t mean for them to. I’m constantly wishing that I could take things back, so a lot of what goes on in my head sounds like, “Shut your damn mouth already, Chelsie. Shut up, shut UP, SHUT UP!” I can’t help myself. I lack the tact filter between my brain and my mouth that most normal people seem to develop around age five.
I really shouldn’t make excuses for my behaviour. I’m kind of a lost cause. There’s nothing I can do about it but try to keep my mouth shut and carry around a big fucking shovel to dig myself out of all these holes.
So why am I so bothered by a teeny tiny, little bitty, miniscule slight that didn’t even happen in real life?
Long story short, there’s a pretty major blogger who seems to have some latent beef with me, and for the love of all that is good and holy, I can’t figure out what the fuck it is. Not too long ago, I started following her on Twitter. I’ve linked to her site and mentioned how much I like her writing. I felt kind of starstruck when she left a comment on one of my posts–like, hey! someone quasi-well known just acknowledged my existence! Almost immediately after that, I started to get the feeling that something I had done rubbed her the wrong way.
Comments I’ve made on her posts have mysteriously gone missing, though there was nothing offensive or objectionable about them. At one point, she sort of accused me of dirty hustling her ideas and implied that I was piggybacking on her success.
(Pretty sure that’s not the case when go you go out of your way to link back, attribute, and basically prostrate yourself before their precious fucking feet. Amirite?)
I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my imagination–I’m notoriously poor on picking up on sarcasm–but I’m pretty sure this chick thoroughly dislikes me. I know I’m not even a blip on her radar, so I shouldn’t be bothered by this. But I am. The best thing for me to do would be to forgot all about it. Unfollow her, delete her from my reading list, and move on with my life. Because that’s what an adult would do. But part of me really just wants to curl up in a little ball with my security blanket and rock back and forth while I listen to some Norwegian death metal.
However, I’m not really good at playing this whole ‘mentally stable, productive adult’ game, so I’ll probably dwell on it for a while. Check back in say, three or four hours? I should be okay by then. Or at least medicated.