Minor rant...

Maybe I lie. Major rant. I have a thing about not blogging when I’m annoyed about something, because I think ‘foot-in-mouth’ disease is compounded greatly when you do. Today however, scratch that. I am pissed; at myself, at the world, at this lovely bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. So here’s a quickie to make me feel better (as they always do).

I got onto Twitter, and a week later, when I realised people don’t play stupid colour/fruit/country/relationship status games, I deactivated my FB account. 6 months down the line, done with my exams, I figured the only way to satisfy the faux-friends in my life was with a quick update so I reactivated said account for a week. Day 6, I logged on, and saw that a mutual friend had written a congratulatory/delayed birthday message on my ex’s wall. I thought ‘bastard’, then five minutes later, pointed at myself and said ‘idiot’, because there I was, looking at his profile.

Our last conversation was the obligatory ‘Merry Christmas to your family’ message (our families are close friends). He then informed me that he had a baby. I was past the point of caring about this particular issue, because it was a sticking point in our relationship: his wanting a child, my being ‘selfish’ with my uterus while I was still in university, and not fitting him into a five year plan. As I said, he is bastard. Of course when the pressure was non-existent, I would acquiesce to the fact that the idea of a daughter who I could name after my mother would be nice, some time in the VERY DISTANT future. I congratulated him, and forgot all about it. I didn’t even think to ask if he had a girl or boy, which is apparently the norm. I was busy with other things and other people.

So there I was, browsing his wall, snickering because he had ugly spindly legs (new profile picture). Then I saw one of his posts: ‘Her name is X’. I stopped scrolling. He was joking right?! X was my name. The little conniving son of a female dog had just stolen my name. My mother’s name is unique; she was born a few years back (trying not to be ageist), her dad worked under the colonialists, and was really old school (bless his heart), so it’s a bit on the rare side. He’d also chosen the truncated version that we had talked about. Bastard. Then I got even more annoyed, because I was pretty darn sure that despite being together for approximately 7% of our lives, it was a conversation his sorry little brain would have forgotten. Finally, I got annoyed at myself. WTH was I thinking? What was I looking for on his profile? Because let’s be honest, I went looking for shit right?! It’s like reading texts on someone’s phone. Furthermore, why do I care about something that he has done?! It’s not like there was any ambiguity regarding his status as a bastard *slapping myself furiously now*

That is how I ended up here...drinking wine and bitterly blogging. I’m annoyed at myself, for taking 20 steps back in the direction of a donkey walking in reverse...towards stupid. I feel better after this little rant, and will be grand after this bottle of wine. That is all. No. STOP. His account has been deleted. Yes. Now that is all. *HAMMER TIME*