“Situational irony occurs when the exact opposite of what is meant to happen, happens…. For situational irony to occur there has to be something that leads a person to think that a particular event or situation is unlikely happen.” (Courtesy of http://typesofirony.com/the-3-types-of-irony/)
So much for the anonymity of the internet. It turns out that even if you write about your life using the passé blog format, there’s a chance that someone will read what you write and reach out to you.
Now I’m not naive, I knew there was a chance someone other than Thom or my therapist would read my journal entries from this week (and who am I kidding, there was no chance that Thom would ever read them on his own), but I didn’t actually think it was likely to happen. And the irony is that I almost mentioned the blog to Thom today after I told him I was trying to monitor my alcohol intake, but at the last minute I opted out of that scenario and settled in to the fact of my lonely musings.
And then lo and behold a friend from work sends me an email referencing some of the intimate confessions I’ve been writing down this past week. He was very sweet and offered his company and compliments, as well as a vote in favor of my not dying anytime soon. The emotions I experienced in those few seconds I spent reading the email were: surprise, alarm, gratitude, embarrassment, and then some acceptance for dessert. Isn’t the point of writing about this experience (or these experiences) to own them and put them out there so I can effectively confront them? Well, sure, but I guess I’d planned to work my way writing solo to my Saturday morning therapy session and then control the narrative of telling my narrative.
Thankfully that didn’t happen. It actually feels nice to have shared these thoughts with someone else. Now although my friend apologized for crossing any boundaries, he helped me realize that boundaries have been my biggest problem. I keep too many things separate. Work and play. Smiles and pain. Public drinking and secret drinking. What I think and what I allow myself to say. Having him acknowledge the things I wrote about made them real.
And what is also real is how I spent my evening. Glasses of wine with Gertrude. Banjo lesson. A bit of hanging out with Thom before he left to get drinks with a friend. (I opted out to stick to my resolve this week.) Workout at the gym. Home to relax alone, enjoy good music, and write all of this down.
Me and Mr. Jones 