Real Trainwrecks
woo boy. I was up way late reading all about Jul and Rachel.
Short version: Jul and husband were separated, perhaps going to work things out. Husband, offstage (thank god someone is, eh?) takes up with Rachel.
Rachel posts on one of Jul's friend's site. Hell breaks loose.
The whole thing was fascinating, amusing until I remembered shit! these are real people. Then it seemed as if I were pushing to the front of a fatal accident scene to peer at the paramedics at work and listen to--and make--comments like
Eeeww, blood.
Oh, that woman really should have worn clean underwear when she left the house today.
and the more we chatter about it, the more acceptable it becomes.
Heh. Of course that's what happens when they light up the disaster scene with disco lights and/or a pretty blog skin.
I feel sorry for Rachel, searching for acceptance and forgiveness in the wrong places. I get the impression she's young--she hasn't learned yet that children (and often spoiled kids at that) are the only people forgiven for spectacularly bad behavior by the ones they've hurt. Outside of family of course. Family is a whole 'nother bag of wax, as C says.
I'd feel sorry for Jul but she's massively brilliant, funny and apparently has a wonderful support system in her family. She's single, young, pretty and she seems to understand computers.
Hmm.
Actually I think I'm sort of jealous of Jul.
I wonder which sister (yes, I read their blogs last night too) is with Mr. Snail and I hope they're happy together . . . and holy shit. I'm doing it again. This reality/fiction divide must shoved put back in place. It's beyond uncomfortable heading deep into the skeevy zone. **
* * * *
Years ago I wrote a short story about a woman who manipulated her friends into horrible relationships and dangerous situations. She then hurried to her friends and listened to their troubles. They loved her because she was so willing to act as their counselor--in truth she want to interview them so she can get a real view of their plights for her fiction because she had no imagination but desperately wanted to be an Author.
I wrote it after I sat with a friend who had just lost her mother. I couldn't help listening to her and thinking about how interesting her words would sound written down in a story. I didn't. Use them, I mean.
At least I do it to myself too. The night my father died, I was horribly sick--many of my reflections that night were cowardly and bizarre. I thought what a great antihero way to express emotion! I did use the stuff from that night, exaggerated. I figured it was my right.
_________
** Skeev factor aside--what if you had the accident, bled all over the blog and no one bothered to notice. That's almost worse.
Short version: Jul and husband were separated, perhaps going to work things out. Husband, offstage (thank god someone is, eh?) takes up with Rachel.
Rachel posts on one of Jul's friend's site. Hell breaks loose.
The whole thing was fascinating, amusing until I remembered shit! these are real people. Then it seemed as if I were pushing to the front of a fatal accident scene to peer at the paramedics at work and listen to--and make--comments like
Eeeww, blood.
Oh, that woman really should have worn clean underwear when she left the house today.
and the more we chatter about it, the more acceptable it becomes.
Heh. Of course that's what happens when they light up the disaster scene with disco lights and/or a pretty blog skin.
I feel sorry for Rachel, searching for acceptance and forgiveness in the wrong places. I get the impression she's young--she hasn't learned yet that children (and often spoiled kids at that) are the only people forgiven for spectacularly bad behavior by the ones they've hurt. Outside of family of course. Family is a whole 'nother bag of wax, as C says.
I'd feel sorry for Jul but she's massively brilliant, funny and apparently has a wonderful support system in her family. She's single, young, pretty and she seems to understand computers.
Hmm.
Actually I think I'm sort of jealous of Jul.
I wonder which sister (yes, I read their blogs last night too) is with Mr. Snail and I hope they're happy together . . . and holy shit. I'm doing it again. This reality/fiction divide must shoved put back in place. It's beyond uncomfortable heading deep into the skeevy zone. **
Years ago I wrote a short story about a woman who manipulated her friends into horrible relationships and dangerous situations. She then hurried to her friends and listened to their troubles. They loved her because she was so willing to act as their counselor--in truth she want to interview them so she can get a real view of their plights for her fiction because she had no imagination but desperately wanted to be an Author.
I wrote it after I sat with a friend who had just lost her mother. I couldn't help listening to her and thinking about how interesting her words would sound written down in a story. I didn't. Use them, I mean.
At least I do it to myself too. The night my father died, I was horribly sick--many of my reflections that night were cowardly and bizarre. I thought what a great antihero way to express emotion! I did use the stuff from that night, exaggerated. I figured it was my right.
_________
** Skeev factor aside--what if you had the accident, bled all over the blog and no one bothered to notice. That's almost worse.
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