Mondays

[peterbirks]

There are times when my self-esteem reaches such a low point that you would need industrial diggers working several months overtime just to discover in what geological stratum said self-esteem was currently located. And, well, this is one of those times. I'm an emotional basket-case utterly incapable of coping with modern life. The only thing I can do to help myself when this kind of situation arises is watch some WSOP or WPT footage and try to catch a sight of Hellmuth or Matusow suffering a bad beat. Then at least I can see that, bad as I am, I'm not that bad.

As if this weren't enough, it looks like the leak in the vestibule to the house is being caused by a leak in my central heating. I am not absolutely certain of this, but, if it is true, I might as well start burning the fifty pound notes now, because it will take a long time and a lot of burning to get up to the cost of repairing it. Plus the inconvenience of living in a place with floorboards ripped up for god knows how long. And I haven't even got a clue whom to telephone. Bollox.

I'm developing my theory that a blog is (at least for me, and probably for quite a few others), a kind of "imaginary friend" for grown-ups. Men, in particular, can't emote with other men, mainly because other men get very uncomfortable when it happens. Women can emote with other women and, sometimes, men can emote with other women, although if the man is heterosexual there are always complex undertones that never quite go away. But a blog, well, you can emote to your blog just like you can do it to your psychiatrist. On the minus side, the whole world gets to know about it. On the plus side, it's a lot cheaper.

Comments

Blog as Self-Therapy

[geoffchall.livejournal.com]

Of course I would totally agree with this, but I don't like to talk about that kind of thing.

[(Anonymous)]

When trying to figure out an intransigent programming problem, many turn to a colleague, start to explain the problem then stop half-way through as they realise what's wrong. Turns out that the colleague isn't really necessary, it's the act of explanation that matters. A cardboard cutout would work just as well. I see much of blogging as talking to a cardboard cutout. Or cutouts.

It's sort of kind of like a diary except there's a chance that people will actually read it. Good thing we know that will happen beforehand - what would Pepys have thought if he'd opened his ledger and discovered that there were comments scrawled all over it...

[jellymillion.livejournal.com]

Er, that was me by the way - work PC wasn't logged in.

Mike

[(Anonymous)]

I was going to try to cheer you up with an encouraging and positive comment, but instead I read this and just thought 'I was going to blog about that!' Not about the low self-esteem stuff (although I do blog regularly about that too) but about the 'blog as confidante' thing. And when my post making exactly the same point appears please note it was already written but saved in 'Draft mode' when I read this. :-) The 'imaginary friend' thing is all true sadly, but it does have a positive side, I've met lots of 'real life' friends through my blog, and had a good few months with a boyfriend because of it too. And because everyone reading this now knows you have Monday Morning and Vestibule Leakage issues we'll all be extra nice to you. If you'd like to meet up for lunch some time this week please let me know. You can then moan to a real life person about stuff. I prefer moaning to my best friend blog, but real life moaning works too.

Jo
http://acehighwins.blogspot.com

Happy Loving Couples Make It Look So Easy

[peterbirks.livejournal.com]

I would never accuse you of nicking my stuff, Jo. In fact, your blog was what came to mind when I was thinking about the "blog as confidante". I kind of put the "imaginary friend" bit in because it gave the entry a much-needed touch of pathos.

Wednesday is good if you fancy lunch. Thursday I have to rush home so that I can drive my by now worthless car to Penge to get it serviced and spend £300 on it. Then on Friday I have to rush to Victoria to get the train to Penge so that I can pick up my serviced car and bring it home, equally worthless, but at least guaranteed to go for another year, so that it can get dirty, awaiting another incompetent thief with a mobile phone.

[simonbillenness.livejournal.com]

I'm glad I live in America now; I can emote to my straight male friends.

British stiff upper lip is way overrated.