Ladies and gentlemen, let me present my blogroll.  (Point ——>)

I’m really particular about my blogroll.  It’s only allowed to include blogs of friends, blogs of note, and blogs of note belonging to my friends.  If a blog becomes less noteworthy or doesn’t update enough (more than once a month, please, I know some of you people don’t even have real jobs), it gets deleted.  The whole process is a lot like how I regularly prune my Facebook friends.  If you’ve revealed yourself to be an idiot or have no real presence aside from a photo, then there’s no reason I should be associated with you.

One of the blogs on mah roll I recently deleted belongs to this chick in DC.  I found her through Mommy Wants Vodka (a great blog, I read it even with the mommy association) and was entertained by her archives for at least 30 minutes.  Because I wanted to keep reading, I added her link to my blogroll.

Then the couples therapy happened.  She said that she and her recently-acquired husband went to couples therapy not because their relationship is in trouble, but more to keep those wheels greased so a good thing can keep moving.  Which actually seemed like a decent idea.  I’ve been married before, and I can tell you from experience that one of the ugliest things about it is that tense silence.  It hangs like the Relationship Killer of Damocles.  Keep communicating.  Also, don’t marry a shithead.  But anyway…

As her entries kept coming, though, she talked about therapy more.  And not just “today we did therapy, but here’s some crazy thing we saw on the way there!”  More like, “today we did therapy, and the therapist agreed that my husband is a dick.”

I just…man.  Clearly I’m not the most private person in the world, but I do think some things are better kept quiet.  What she’s been saying seems like a gross breach of trust to me, and I don’t have the stomach to watch (er, read) someone’s marriage fall apart.

Stephie recently commented that writing a blog is a more creative, more positive way to journal.  Which is true.  Instead of wallowing in your own disgusting misery, you’re forced to present it in an engaging, non-nauseating way.  And this seems contradictory to the whole “everyone on the Internet can see what you write FOREVER” thing, but, if you do it right, you’ll learn how to keep the private things private and entertain people with the rest.

I learned this the hard way once…well, twice.  I hadn’t accounted for Internet stalkers the first time, and the second time, when I thought I was being subtle, I was later asked about the entry in front of the very person I’d oh-so-subtly written about.

“Hey, who was that about the other day?”

“Uhhhhhh….”

I no longer see the benefit in making myself look like a jackass (most of the time), nor do I know why anyone far more well known than I would air her physician-privileged relationship issues all over the universe.  Can I even tell you how many times I’ve written something angry when I was pissed off at Graham, only to disregard it later?  It’s the 24-hour rule.  Get mad, write it out, and wait 24 hours.  Odds are you’ll be glad you remembered your manners.  If you’re still pissed enough to post it then, well, the person you’re writing about probably deserves it.*

This is why there’s a delete button out there, friends.  As on the internet, also in life.

*Which reminds me, I’ve got to publish something about someone, and I’ve waited for however many hours are in a couple of weeks.  The suspense must be killing you.