The Risks of Blogging

I got an e-mail this morning from the ex I lovingly refer to as “The Troll”. The guy refuses to give up; I find that adorable, but not enough to help us overcome the problems that destroyed the relationship.

As I’ve stated before, pretty much all the guys that date me are certifiably crazy or have some severe physical/social disability. The troll was definitely the nicest of all these carnies. He liked me, and he was smart, interested in things, and laughed at my jokes…

…until you introduced other people. Then he withdrew completely. His neck disappeared, he stared at the floor, he shuffled as he walked, and he looked exactly like the desert troll he was when not alone with me. He was also painfully, searingly pale skinned. One mole on his cheek was the only available pigment. That fact never bothered me until he was annoyingly absent in social situations.

On one of the last days we spent together, we were debating this problem. Well, I debated while he watched television in my apartment. Occasionally, during commercials, I would get a stammered response, generally along the lines, of (and prepare yourself, women, for the great romance) “well, we can, like, I don’t know, uh, figure it out when, we’re, uh, like, together. For a long time, y’know.”

I am sorry to let the single girls know that such flowery language is possible from a man proposing a lifetime of togetherness. I finally went over, stood between him and the TV, leaned down to obstruct his line of sight, and said, “I need to know right now why you think we will ever get past this problem.”

He glanced over my shoulder to the TV. Satisfied that he wasn’t missing a Farscape re-run, he replied, “Look! I’m not good with words. I like to write.”

I acquiesced, “Okay, write it down for me, then.”

He muttered something about his blog. (Yes, it was The Troll who introduced me to the concept 6 months before Cate suggested it. In one of those great moments of irony, I had turned up my nose at the idea, claiming it was voyeuristic and inappropriate to write your thoughts for strangers to read. Go ahead. Take a moment to laugh.) The show roared back to life, so Troll sank into himself. I angrily finished the dishes before plopping on the couch, well out of reach.

That night, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt (this is my great failure in relationships – I’m too quick to forgive). I logged onto his blog, the place where he had assured me I could find access to his innermost thoughts. He wrote, “Last week, Nick Berg was beheaded. My heart is filled with the anguish of the family.”

Difficult to believe, but I didn’t find that very comforting. And yet, I gave him a second chance. The next day, he wrote about the McDonald’s lawsuit. The day after that? Television. No e-mail arrived and our live conversations were as though the discussion had never happened.

When I finally brought it up again, he stammered his way through an explanation that he thought I was “over it.” I was not, I informed him.

We survived another several weeks because I really did care for him, but, in the end, I couldn’t imagine being with someone who was incapable of communicating with me through whichever media he chose. Then there was the pesky not helping thing (yeah, he’s the same guy I dumped for being useless – I mentioned there was a little bit more to that story). In case you were wondering, there is not one mention of me anywhere on the blog where he supposedly writes his deepest feelings.

But he still e-mails every few months to ask if “I’ve changed my mind about the marriage thing.” A true romantic, that one. Maybe one day, I’ll be done wanting more and he’ll finally get me (I could do worse, and have. At least he didn’t police every bite in my mouth and compare me to whichever model he wished I were that day – yeah, gotta love the motorcycle guy for that complex).

‘Til then, I’m afraid I haven’t changed my mind.