My ex-girlfriend was a huge fan of my writing, but she hated BRANDTRUEBOY. She couldn’t understand why I wasted my time and talent on a blog. She resented the characters and their adventures, claiming she had to share me with them, as I spent so many hours working on the blog’s “plot”.
When I asked her to be more explicit she’d shrug her shoulders and not offer details. Over time it dawned on me that she wasn’t actually reading the site anymore.
“It’s something very important to me,” I told her, “It hurts me that you don’t bother to read it.”
“Read it!” she suddenly shouted. “I have to LIVE with it, day in and day out!”
“Oh, I see,” I said.
In the silence that followed I could hear distant bells tolling the death knell of our relationship. The sound was solemn and sad, and yet a part of me was straining to hear it.
“You realize,” she said, her voice still shaky with outrage, “that most of your readers are probably perverts. They’re out there masturbating to what you write.”
“Really?” I asked, unable to hide how thrilled the idea made me.
“Do you really think my stuff is good enough for that?”
I don’t remember exactly what she said to that. Something about how I was crazy or sick or funny. Then she most likely had a cigarette and maybe I bummed a few drags as I kept her company. And after some small talk she probably went into the bedroom to watch TV and fall asleep while I told her I’d be right there, that I just had to finish one thing, only to spend several more hours at the computer, writing and reading, reading and writing.
“Fuck relationships,” I thought, as I posted a topless pic of myself for all the innernet to see.
“That’s what she gets for not reading my blog.”