All of the really good things I could write about, I'm legally barred from --which is kind of hilarious. Five or six years ago, I ran my mouth on this blog, said some ugly (and honestly, not very articulate) things about someone I was once involved with. It wasn't the first time and she also resented some of the things I'd written about other people, which, I suppose, she thought reflected back on her.
That all sounds pretty vague, right? Good.
As the old story goes, we had to hash some things out with the help of a lawyer. I agreed to not write about several things, which is too bad, but I got a pretty good deal --mostly. Our agreement clarified some fuzzy points that she might have been used in a way that wasn't particularly helpful to me. Things have been better since. I lost some story fodder, but I gained a lot.
Still vague enough to be almost inscrutable? Yes, I think so.
It's funny that I should think about this now, but I was going through my desk the other day and came across something labeled, "old papers." Among these papers was the stuff from the mediation, the stuff the other party brought to the meeting, including copies of those old blog posts I agreed to delete.
It wasn't everything I lost.
To be honest, I was asked to delete more than just the offending posts. She wanted a bit more than what we'd agreed to. I had to scrub those posts that somehow touched on our shared history, that referred to her in passing (or other related topics), even if there wasn't anything negative about it.
It was a bit much, actually, and I probably should have said no, but I was trying to get along, trying to regain the peace after much conflict. I just did it and moved forward.
I looked at those old papers and the naughty things I wrote --in retrospect, they were kind of ham-fisted and not an accurate description of my feelings. I think I was trying to be vulgar for the sake of vulgarity, even though why I wanted to be vulgar was pretty straight-forward.
As close as I can say it without actually apologizing, I didn't mean the things I said, particularly that part about getting a sunburn on her lady bits. I meant something else that was probably worse, but lacked the imagination to come up with something actually funny --and sometimes just saying someone is a jerk just doesn't really satisfy. If it did, we'd have never come up with cocksucker or motherfucker, let alone all the great things my old buddy Brad and I have called each other over the years just because we could.
The validity of the agreement is somewhat shaky these days. The terms were based on a certain set of conditions and I have to wonder what happens if those conditions change?
I don't know. I tend to think my obligation to abide by the treaty is crumbling, has been in decay for years, with each little alteration we've made to it, but times have changed, too.
Still, the heart of the deal was that I would not write about her: I would write no good thing and no bad thing.
I can keep that peace, I think. Let that past stay in the past.
The rest, we may test in a month or so --not that it matters. In case you hadn't heard, blogging is dead. Nobody reads this shit anymore.