Ew, ew, ew.

Whenever people talk about the nature of blogging, invariably, the idea of a "window" comes up. It's a pretty decent comparison: Life as a house, the information we share on the internet as an opening in the wall. It's a controlled glimpse, and as long as you don't place the window in, say, your bathroom, you don't really mind much about the general public hanging around outside and peering in.

But the problem, to really drag out this extended metaphor, is that the not-so-general public can also peer in -- including friends from elementary school, and grandparents, and (and this is the kicker) outsiders who used to be anything but. Frenemies, exes, and others who used to live inside the House of Your Life but who you finally evicted a number of years ago because they pissed on the toilet seat and set fire to your cat.

Which is to say, people you'd hoped to thoroughly shut out will, years later, still keep tabs on you via your blog.

And by "you", I mean "me".

And by "people", I mean... well, no, I'm not naming names, but ugh.

Until last week, I'd forgotten this could even be a concern -- the way a person forgets about a wart once it's been frozen off. And while I've specifically angled my own inter-window so as not to display anything I consider private -- despite the profanity and personal anecdotes, there's nothing here I feel weird about showing to the world -- I'm thoroughly icked out by this one lousy individual, who is (figuratively) hanging around, looking in, and waving at me through the window even though I am (figuratively) calling the police, because it is (LITERALLY) extremely fucking creepy and weird.

And as it turns out, it doesn't do much for the whole "wanting to write" thing.

I'll be back when the nausea subsides.