Hey, you. Yeah, you. The one who left me a response that one time. Yes, the one that was kinda trollish, and your name seemed a bit made-up, but who knows, maybe you’re a real person who thought you were helping me.
Either way, doesn’t matter...
You threw out some serious criticism. It wasn’t even that bad. The really bad ones are easy to ignore. But yours, it was subtle. I forget exactly what you said, but the essence of your note was that you like some posts but really can’t stand some of the other ones. Then you went into detail about the ones you hate. It threw me a curve because I really enjoy those ‘other ones’. But now, when I sit down, all I can think of is that one… damn… response.
Yours. I’m obsessing about it. All the other responses — words of support, love, hilarity, curiosity, and gratitude — those are long gone from my mind right now. Why can’t I think of THOSE?
It’s stupid, I know. I should just put you out of my mind and move on. Well, it’s proving extremely difficult to do.
Here’s the deal, dear responder… I’m breaking up with you. When I sit down to write, I have to shut you off. I can’t listen to you anymore. I’ve got to feel that hesitancy well up — the feeling that clamps down on my hand as I type and tries to censor me — and I gotta write in the face of it. I know I might lose you as a reader. And this kills — seriously, I’ve worked so hard for your attention…
But I gotta let you go, responder. I gotta be free.