On Why Reading Other People's Live Journal's And Losing A Dog Are Not Dissimilar.

A little while ago I made a pact with someone that we would not read the LJ's of the people who were gunning for us. That way, we thought, we couldn't be upset about what they might write, and could more easily get on with our lives.

The person whom I made the pact with is obviously far stronger willed than me, hasn't checked the LJ's since then, and as a result hasn't read any of the comments, but I, I just don't have that kind of strength in me. I feel somehow compelled to go and read the nastiness, feel the hurt and make myself upset about it. I can't help it even though I know it's going to be horrid.

Then, yesterday, whilst looking for the dog, Harry and I saw a white shape on the hill at Longleat. As we walked nearer we thought we also saw blood on the shape. We thought we saw blood, both of us, and yet we both felt compelled to continue walking towards the shape, convinced that it was Pickles, dead, but still having to look anyway even though we knew it was going to hurt.*

And that's the point, really. I wonder what it is in our nature that forces us to do things that we know are going to be upsetting and make us miserable, even though the sensible rational bit of our brain tells us not to look, to turn away.

It's like listening to songs that have sad connotations, songs played at funerals or ones that once symbolised a relationship you were in. You play them, even knowing that they're going to make you cry.

Well, I'm going to try my hardest not to do this from now on.

I'm going to try not to go to those miserable places, because for the first time in a long time I am starting to like my life, and like myself, I like the people in my life and the places I go to with them. I'm going to try my very best not to let the bad stuff get to me and I'm going to concentrate on the good and happy things I have in my life, instead.

Monty Pythonesque it may be, but, you know, it just might work.


* It wasn't Pickles. It was a ripped up sack and our eyes were playing tricks on us.