Monday, 11 January 2010


Please regard the following post as an extension, a PS to yesterdays, after which I promise never to bore you with my own Dear Diary stuff again.

Reading the sweet responses to my post yesterday, my immediate reaction was defensiveness. But re-reading the actual post, I realised I would have responded in exactly the same way. Cue, guilt, for while there is no way I cannot be biased, perhaps my portrayal of a friend was unfair.

It happens all the time in life. You're talking about something: a person, a poem, a TV series, and words come gushing out of your mouth that you never realised you thought. That doesn't make them less true. But it is purely your own truth, without time lent to consider other points of view, or even your feelings at any moment other than the now.

Everything I wrote happened. No exaggeration for dramatic effect. But perhaps some omission. Like my own preceding sarcastic remark, like his guilty smile afterwards.

Still, rudeness is totally not excusable and maybe I would be happier if I didn't know him.

Except that today, another friend told me how he had turned to her genuinely worried the other day and said 'no, I think I might have actually offended her. I love books. Librarians are beautiful.'

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