Random fits of blog-deleting panic.

When blogging got me fired from my day job, one of those dutied with the task of blotting out the single spot of sunshine in a dreary office full of corporate drones (I'll just throw it out there now: I'm not necessarily humble all the time) smiled ruefully at me and said:

"You're actually a pretty good writer."

I started laughing. Okay, truth be told, I was already sort of laughing, because losing one's day job (read: soul-sucking but roughly 75% of one's living income for those of us 'creative' types - particularly those of us 'creative' types with a shopping problem and the travel bug) via HR shoving a fistful of what you thought was your anonymous blog (complete with an identifying photo - from the back - of a girl who is not you but sometimes looks like your younger self in certain angles and outfits) under your nose and telling you to pack your cube up and shove off warrants some type of reaction, and, for me, it was laughter.

I mean, I had literally finished The Washingtonienne two days before (completely unimpressed) and was all, 'damn, people really get fired for this crap? Good thing I'm not using my work computer to (poorly) write about my kinky DC sex or I just might have to jump out of cakes for money!'

Except, oops. Backing up, I was using my work computer to blog about other such fascinating subjects as my failure at adulthood and perfect ex-boyfriend and lifelong devotion to Coach. And, that fateful morning, to rant about my hatred of the man and the growing tendency of employers to post their current employees' positions on a Web site rather well-known to the twenty-something set and expect them (in all of their self-righteous narcissism - I know and accept my own kind) to just sit back and continue beating their brains out for some paltry pay, all the while knowing there is no such thing as job security. (What can I say? I have a temper and like to put a rather high value on my stock as an employee.)

Obviously, that didn't go over so well when IT security flagged it. Again, oops.

And there I was, with the hard copy of my blog sitting before me (pretty surreal, to be honest) and a couple of hens clucking their tongues at me and offering up as consolation to my own damn stupidity (I may not be humble all the time, but I will own up to my mistakes) the assessment that I'm "actually a pretty good writer."

Well, duh. Like you thought I was illiterate before? Yeah, how's that lack of a college degree treating you (yes I will hold my purchased education in as high a regard as necessary to help me sleep at night after I've put in my eight hours of pushing papers!)? Still bitter? I know I can write! Have we met? I only do things I do well. Some say that's a flaw. I say it's all part of my master plan to be perfect. Tomato, To-mah-toh.

Of course, then I proceeded to go home and freak the fuck out. Those judgy-faces read my blog! How long have they been reading it?! Who else has seen it? How much did they read?! It's supposed to be anonymous! PRETTY good writer?!!!?!! As in, they've fired previous bloggers with more talent? Why 'pretty good'? OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY READ IT! WHO ELSE ARE THEY GOING TO SHOW IT TO?

So mid-freakout I did what any completely irrational, dramatic, under-employed young woman in the midst of an identity crisis she didn't know she was having coupled with a rare but intense moment of insecurity would do:

I deleted my blog.

As if they can't just pass around the hard copy for the reading entertainment of all should they feel the desire, confidentiality be damned. I mean, these are the people who posted my position on a public, non-firewalled Web site people like me are particularly prone to trolling. I'm assuming the rules don't apply to everyone.

And like I care anyway. It was GOOD. Let them read it.

Which then brought me to, 'SHIT. I just deleted my blog! My GOOD blog. SHIT SHIT SHIT. Give it back, Blogger!'

Blogger did not give it back. Blogger is so a Mac in the world of blog-hosting. A PC of a free blog-hosting site (er...livejournal, perhaps? I'm losing my analogy, but I liked where it was going, so, suffer) I'm confident would totally have asked me 39 times if I was sure I wanted to perform such an action, but a Mac like Blogger? Oh no. You said delete? BLOG DELETED.

And now I'm back to try again. I'm not sure why.

Because I'm a glutton for punishment? Eh, it's not like I have a day job to worry about now. And I don't make the same mistakes twice.

Because I'm an attention whore? Oh, that's definitely part of it.

Because in those moments where it seems like I've ruined it all for the millionth time in 26 short years, writing always seems to help? Yes. One hundred percent yes.

Because I'm a writer. A pretty good one.