Sometimes, something gets to me, someone angers me or hurts me and I know I should just let it go but it comes back and won't let go. Most people will just tell me to don't bother and that I shouldn't let people get me down and all that. They are right, of course, but sometimes it doesn't work. For various reasons. You may be constantly reminded or the other person won't leave you alone.
I blogged some time ago about someone making me hurt and angry and I thought I was done with it. But it is returning and now I will use my blog, my space to rant about what happened, give my version of events. I do what I know best, I write about it.
Some time ago I was approached in chat by someone who has been in a part of the blogosphere I have been visiting for some time. I am happy to give everybody a chance. We both have a common friend so I was generally accepting towards this person and, perhaps, a tad too willing to trust him.
I should have known were it was going when he started to go on about how it was important to do it for real, imaginary spankings isn't the same as real ones and that writing only makes it worse. These were his words, not mine. I know this point of view, I have encountered it many times before and most people tend to accept it when I tell them I prefer my way of approaching things and that writing does not at all make things worse.
This was not enough for him. He knew better and even suggested I should pay someone to smack my bottom.
Talking to someone who doesn't at all respect me and my decisions make me, first, annoyed and, then, angry. We all have our lives to lead and we approach them in the way we know best and to assume, without knowing someone, that your own solution is best for others is disrespectful and plain stupid.
I should have stopped there but I didn't. It became worse. In a a moment of madness I told him that I can't have children, that it simply doesn't work. It is not about husband, it is about me. It is true and the madness was in ever mentioning it.
This person then promptly declares that it is because I haven't met him or his brother and then went on to tell me how potent and fertile they were. If that was a joke I may be a person without humour. To me that is exactly the things you don't tell a woman who has divulged to you one of the great pains of her life.
Now, I am telling you. It is no secret now, but still something very sad. And I may be forgiven, I think, for not wanting to laugh.
I gave him another chance, sometimes later, and then we started talking about grammar. You all know what I feel about grammar and how I try to explain my view on it. To cut a long story short. He claimed that English was developed from Latin and I told him he was wrong.
This is one of those things that could easily be checked, to see what the research community think of it. No, he knew about those things. He was a public school boy.
It is strange to spend years in education, studying, among other things, language history. To acquire knowledge about established theories and trends in a subject you come to love and cherish only to be dismissed with the argument that they are educated in a public school.
What gets to me is that when I try to stay on track, to argue my case, to ask what he meant by saying this or that, he changes subject and comes with arguments about completely different things. He is like a sniper, shooting at you from a new place every time, not stopping and standing up for what he has said. This is really frustrating. And when he then turns around and try to laugh it off, suggesting that it is fun to argue about these matters, asking if I know what irony is, I have had enough.
I have been thinking about why I was so angry about a discussion about language history. I can see that it is not my desire to be proven right that is important but it was the way my view was dismissed, laughed at and just avoided that really fired me up. I don't have to be right but I want the one I am talking to, to understand that I do have a view that is worth respect, especially in a subject I have studied for many years.
Given the history of having been hurt by this person I felt that enough was enough and in the end I asked him to bugger off and to do other things off. Yes, I became rude. I said rude things although I did never call him names.
I was rewarded with being called foul mouthed fish wife and other equally insulting things. I was told I was playing the dumb blond. If that is not insulting I don't know what is.
I will end now and thank those who have managed to read my rant this far. I am not looking for support and I don't want to excuse myself. I just want to give my version of events and just tell my story, to get it out, off my chest, to talk. I mean nothing more than that. Thanks for listening.