All The Shit Times: an epic tale of love, legal threats & internet bitchiness

12 Jul

I’m feeling kind of mellow. So I’m going to tell all. I am probably going to regret this. But I sense that the final consummation draws near, as inexorably as a bimbo’s boxers drop to his messy, sock-covered floor after a few well-placed pokes on Facebook. So here is my one last, pathetic, crazed confession before I blog what this blog was created to record. Forgive me, journalists, for leaving nothing for you by writing this tell-all; if I’m ever outed, your expose will lack spice. I am mad to write this; surely it’ll be bait for those who would still argue with me about the petition. But when have I ever done anything I didn’t regret lately? Or, perhaps more accurately, when have I ever done anything which a normal person would regret? I, of course, regret nothing. I see no point in ‘if-onlys’ and ‘what-ifs’ – it is what it is. Rise to the challenge and acquit yourself well, because the world is watching. Someday it’ll be yours, but until then, you must impress them.

I was a kid on 7th May 2012 when I sold sexual services for the first (or if you count being spanked on 28th April, then the second) time. But I’ve grown up so much in this last year. I want to tell you; tell you about all the shit times. As a sort of disclaimer, I’d ask you all to bear in mind that I’m not trying to blame, whinge or reopen any debates, nor do I claim that my emotions were proportionate, reasonable or logical; my descriptions of other’s actions will probably be unintentionally biased and are composed in part of my own assumptions. I note that certain people against the Merseyside petition have since changed their minds. For reasons of space and because this is about my feelings, a lot of stuff will have to be omitted, and I’ll probably come off pretty rosy, as the focus will be on others’ actions and not mine. This is a Diary post and hence not ‘official’; for my thoughts on sex work activism, Merseyside etc see the posts in the  ‘Sex Work’ category. As for my ‘official’ thoughts on Lynne, I agree with her on most, or perhaps almost all, issues; I’d plug her stuff right here if it wouldn’t out her. Her privacy is important to me because this blog post de facto defames her. No court would see it that way of course, as everything I write is true -well, I’ve learned that defamation includes outing people and publicising true stuff, so actually maybe it is sue-able. Though maybe I’d have to out her or publicise a lot of details about her (de facto outing) for it to be actionable. But I know she won’t sue me, because I’m as broke as a bimbo’s cock after he’s been shagged by a girl he met on Facebook. Anyway, what on earth was I talking about? Oh, yes: it’s defamatory because I only reveal how she made me feel, not how I annoyed her; and I’ve omitted the advice/help she’s given me and all our other interactions. Everything that follows belongs firmly in the past and the last thing I want is to dredge it up. I’m only writing about it because I dared not write it at the time, and I know I must write it if I’m to tell the whole truth on this blog. Oh, and go make yourself a coffee or something; this post is novel-length. Ain’t nobody gonna finish it.

I was always afraid of failure and rejection, so when Roland went AWOL it was bad for me. I was at a loss. I knew what I should be doing – advertising – but I couldn’t get motivated. Maybe I was subconciously waiting for his return. The worst had happened and I couldn’t seem to get moving. Growing up, I felt I had to be perfect. I was a geek- one of the brightest in my year and never touched drink or fags, never stayed out late or hung out with a bad crowd or wore skimpy outfits. But good was never good enough in my house. I’d been by far the highest achiever in one of my primary schools and that affected me for life; I felt like I should be the best and if I’m not, I’ve failed. Talking to Lynne about it seemed to help me refocus, though.

I felt out of my depth with the petition when Ruth tweeted that people against the petition might not be real sex workers and people turned on her. I felt like it was my failure, my loss of control, my negligence. I felt like I was a kid, out of my depth in an adult world. That’s crazy, because I’ve liked to think I’m on a par with adults since I was 12. When you’ve got the gift of the gab and are a perceptive debater, utterly determined and unafraid of authority, not to mention unable to be tricked or distracted by unscrupulous adults, you will have the advantage over many adults even though you’re a young teen. I was always able to hold my head up as I avoided the surveillancing and tricks of my powerful enemies on a daily basis. My confidence has always been absolute. I have seen through so many lies. I have tricked confessions out of high-ranking authority figures. Since I was 15, anyone who has dared cover up for their colleagues or lie to my face got taken down, and I would smile at them as I did it. Then I turned 20, and there were less opportunities; and I missed the fun, the wild joy of the chase. I have a confession (“amendment”) I negotiated as a teen in my laptop right now. I’d show you if it wouldn’t out me.

I am a weapon, a perfectly honed machine. That is what they’ve made me. Challenging bad people is my life, my love, my man, my everything. And here I was feeling like a kid for the first time in my life. It was sacrilege. It was beyond unthinkable. I wondered if my crush on Lynne had weakened me psychologically; surely it’s not natural to feel more than desire for someone’s body? Surely it’s wrong to be so enamoured with their ideas and writing and activism, to the extent that there’s little room left for actual thoughts of fucking them? My emotional ties to Lynne sickened me but I didn’t yet worry that I was in love. I’d told her about working with Ruth and she seemed supportive, and now I cursed my own incompetence at failing to stop Ruth tweeting that. I’d been stupid to think I could hold the reins; you can’t control someone’s every move and because I knew Ruth was coming from a place of care and had sex worker friends, I hadn’t watched the No One Unrapable account closely. I’d been too busy thinking about the media image and concerning myself with making sure that the public image of the petition wouldn’t look like it was a radfem or anti thing, but a sex workers’ thing. I was in control of drafting the Merseyside blog (which never came to fruition) for this reason. Lynne was helpful with ideas for which orgs to contact, and Ruth said she was a really nice person and criticised antis for talking shit about her and saying horrible things to her. As for me, I knew that if Lynne had told me not to work with Ruth, it’s possible I would not have (though secretly I hoped she’d be against it for unreasonable reasons and call me a traitor, which would lift my crush on her), and I was worried that this wouldn’t have been a professional decision, but a decision made because I fancied her.

I was getting scared at this point about where the downward spiral of my crush on her was leading me. I’d thought to ride it out and let it pass, as the longest I’ve ever fancied someone was maybe four months, the shortest being three days. Lynne was far from the four month record but my thoughts of her were unnatural; I wanted to be friends with her and see her again and again, which I’ve never wanted before except with Jay and another lovely. Usually I just think about sex and once will be enough. What was more scary was that I didn’t want it to be meaningless; I didn’t want a relationship with Lynne, but for the first time ever, I didn’t just want to be fuck buddies. I dunno what you would call that; being lovers, I suppose? I believe that if Lynne had wanted a meaningless one night thing, I’d have refused; it was all or nothing. She wasn’t single so I knew fancying her was wrong and destructive and that she’d be annoyed if she knew.

Around this time I ‘outed’ myself as the Rhoda Grant parody, @ing both Rhoda Grant and the Ruhama Agency. Laura Lee said she’d guessed it was me! I had to out myself because someone was worried they’d be sued for it. It was news to me that parodying could be actionable and I worried that I’d be sued. I put my main account in the parody’s bio so people would know it was me, then I changed the name of the parody to Abolitionist MSP instead of Fake Rhoda Grant, and put my name as Not Rhoda Grant, though I doubt it made a difference as I was putting Ann Widdecombe and the Pope into my parody by this time. This person didn’t ask me to out myself specifically, but I could see no other way of proving she wasn’t me than by outing myself under both identities. It was the second time I’d unknowingly done something online that could get me sued, and I was shocked that I’d been at risk all this time without knowing. I knew it’d be bad publicity for Rhoda if she sued me, but if someone else was worried about being sued then didn’t I run exactly the same risk? (It was lucky I’d told this person I was Kalika just a few days prior, or they might not have asked the parody to make it clear it wasn’t them). I took confidence from my anonymity, as I suspected that finding/outing my identity and suing would possibly be too bad PR for the woman who is saving the hoors for her to try it. After a few days of worry I completely forgot about this issue until months later when someone accused me of putting this same person in danger of lawsuits because sex workers wouldn’t let me save them (a reference to the petition). Someone else stuck up for me but I deleted the tweets anyway, because I’d genuinely forgotten about the suing thing.

Outing myself a day after announcing my partnership with Ruth was not good, as feminists and antis might not support the petition (Ruth’s role was to secure their support). Thankfully the whole new Pope thing meant that everybody was distracted.

I knew what the petition meant to Ruth. She thought that we wouldn’t see abolition in our lifetimes because drugs have been illegal for so long but there’s still drugs, and Grant’s Bill wasn’t a real solution because it didn’t include exiting strategies so she hadn’t supported it. But the Merseyside model was important to her, especially as she’s got friends in sex work. Me and Ruth disagreed on some issues, but I’d hoped the petition would go smoothly; if it benefits sex workers then that’s a great result no matter who I have to team up with to achieve it. Ruth would bring lots of feminist, politicians’ and even abolitionist support, something that would be harder to get without her.I’d heard about the Merseyside model a year before and it impressed me that Ruth was doing something about it after knowing about it for a few days. I felt powerless, watching the petition put at risk by her tweets, and though I took sole control of the account swiftly, I had to stand by helplessly as people said things about her that I knew not to be true (though I understand why people don’t trust her and as I said earlier, I’m not judging anyone or claiming that my beliefs were valid). Little did I know that I’d also have to stand by as the same thing was done to Lynne a while later, forced to choose not to defend the only person I’d ever previously thought I loved, and wondering how I was ever going to tell her (more on that later).

I wished that I could fancy Ruth instead of Lynne because at least that’s a traditional narrative – Shakespeare-style forbidden love, instead of fancying someone who’s, well, I suppose more of a networking contact than a friend, though I’d known Lynne much longer than Ruth. If I’d fancied Ruth, we could’ve scorched the codes of Twitter with our ill-fated passion until we were driven off to Facebook, riding into the sunset in a flurry of typing. I’d also previously blogged against Ruth, a blog I took down after hearing her story of her friend who she wrote about in the thingy I criticised. She’d told me to leave it up because people should write whatever they want on their own blogs, but I wanted to take it down.

The whole crush thing was getting on my nerves, so I asked Rachel and Alexis how to stop fancying Lynne. They said it was nothing to be embarrassed about and to flirt with her, and Rachel said she wasn’t mono. So the Lynne thing happened (for further details see The Lynne Blog). When I first knew, at 3am on 18th March, I giggled softly out loud cos I literally had no idea she was serious. Though I’ve no idea what I was giggling at – did I think she was flirting with me? I’ve actually had flirtations that went along those lines, which is probably because I’m kinky and so are the people who flirt with me online. (She said “Lady that tweet of yours was not on” and that made me giggle). I worked out she was serious cos when I tried to reply she’d unfollowed. I thought she was just letting me know she was annoyed by unfollowing the parody, so I tried to DM as Kalika but she’d unfollowed that too. I was upset about it but I wasn’t as devastated as I thought I’d be. I knew I wanted her to keep following me even before I realised I fancied her (which is weird cos now I don’t give two shits if she follows me or not and I’m assuming she’s not now, even though she did follow me again temporarily a little while back). But the next morning I felt worse about it, and hoped it was Ruth’s tweets she was talking about.  After I’d got clarification from her that it was the crush thing she was pissed off about, I couldn’t believe anyone could be that petty and I was so pissed at her for unfollowing instead of just telling me she wasn’t interested. Then I publicised the fact that I was no longer working with Ruth and the petition would be mine alone. I was DM’ing Rachel about Lynne and she seemed almost as shocked as I was, and I was convinced I was over her cos she treat me like shit (which turned out not to be true –  that crush took a while to die). Rachel…where would I have been without her? I went offline, marvelling at how much had changed in 24 hours and though I was relieved Lynne hadn’t ignored me or blocked me, I decided not to speak to her for a few days; ‘I can be a bitch too’, I thought.

After that Ruth and I went our separate ways, and recently Fallen Female has been solely tweeting from the account. Another sex worker told me someone told him that I’m an abolitionist, and that even if I was, he doesn’t care because Ugly Mugs is supported by Eaves and Object anyway, so as long as it’s good for sex workers, who cares who supports it. (If I am an abolitionist, then all the criticism of abolitionists, the law and police on this blog and Twitter – not to mention parodying Rhoda and Ruhama – is pretty deep cover). But I’ve nothing against this person; I’ve no interest in holding grudges or creating drama, nor do I have the time for it. Anyway I rather suspect this person now knows I’m not an abolitionist.

I’ve almost never fallen out with friends in my life so I was ill-prepared for ignoring someone (which I’d never done before). But I’d never been so annoyed in my life, so it was easy to not speak to her while I waited for her to realise she was overreacting and apologise. I was really miserable because I realised I wanted only her and I’d have stopped selling virginity if she’d requested it in exchange for seeing me; I’d have paid 4k just to have her; I’d have willingly given her my virginity instead of selling it. That’s when I began to worry that I was in love with her. NOTHING is more important to me than money, NOTHING. Since I was 13 I’ve loved money. And here I was willing to give up thousands just for one person out of the 7 billion on this planet. She wasn’t even Hawking or Miss Universe or an Olympian or anything (or even young, ha.) This is my biggest secret, and I guess I really can’t be outed now, because this is very shameful. Every time she tweeted I’d get a kick in my chest and even when she wasn’t tweeting I’d feel sad about it, which was a very rare emotion for me. I missed talking to her after about a week, but I didn’t want to unfollow her because she might see it as a childish reaction to her unfollowing me.

Being paranoid because of childhood experiences, for the first 2 days or so I waited for Lynne to publicise what I’d done in her tweets, and wondered if she’d said anything privately. In my experience, older women are out to get me and nobody ever doesn’t take revenge on me for saying or writing the wrong thing. Accusations about my sexual boundaries/behaviour (as they called it) were always followed by the immediate publicising of the accusations. It never crossed my mind that Lynne would be any different. I simply didn’t have any frame of reference for an older, educated woman’s benign irritatedness as opposed to nasty intent. So I wondered if she would tweet what I’d done or at least tell others privately on Twitter about how I’d insulted her with my presumptuousness and sexualised thoughts. I worried about what she would do next, who she would tell and how far she’d go in publicising my actions. I just couldn’t imagine that she wasn’t going to label me as dangerous, weird or predatory, or that she wasn’t interested in revenge or in punishing me. I planned to deny my intentions if she blogged against me (though I didn’t think she’d go that far, she’d probably just tweet or spread it privately) and was relieved that I’d had the foresight to tweet as the parody. I reminded myself of my past victories, that surely I could deal with whatever Lynne could throw at me, no matter how successfully she turned others against me. I was surprised the next day when Rachel said she hadn’t mentioned it to her. I would check her timeline for tweets about me but there was nothing, and my @connect tab was devoid of others’ knowing or mocking tweets. There were no more DMs from Lynne, nor any DMs from others referencing it. In my state of paranoia I didn’t just ascribe to Lynne the methods of my persecutors – I also wondered if she was laughing at me, telling other people how stupid I was to ever think I would have a chance with her. Maybe it was absolutely hilarious to her.   After 2 days of her failing to block me, publicise it or tweet at me, I began to relax and decide that maybe she was different or didn’t hate me. (Rachel had said she was just setting boundaries and didn’t hate me). After a couple more days of uneventfulness, I realised that she surely wasn’t biding her time for this long; Lynne really was letting it go. It was a curious feeling not to be hunted down by a group and have my name dragged through the mud; I was at least guilty as charged, for once!

My thoughts about her were ridiculous because she’d be the last person to publically humiliate me – she’s looked out for me and given me great advice, actually. That’s why I won’t answer any questions about her identity if anyone asks me – I can’t, because this post is very biased against her and does not show the truth. A balanced post would show her as being a caring person. It was her who told me I risked being sued if I went ahead with outing the ‘slutvote’ blogger BSkillet81 back in November. At the time I claimed I wouldn’t out him because not enough people wanted him outed. You’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell the truth and say I couldn’t out him in case I was sued.

Well, I lied to protect her, in case someone had seen her initial tweet to me before she continued by DM. I thought she might be criticised for stopping me from outing him (people will make up absolutely anything about her. That’s even clearer to me now.) However, now enough time has gone by that finding that tweet would be exhausting for the casual sleuth, and even Google cache records don’t last forever. It was a massive shock to me that I could be sued for that, and I don’t agree with it because if you can be sued for telling the truth then what does that mean for free speech? And it’s not like I’m outing him in the media; I mean, how many people even read my blog? Weirdly, my interactions with Lynne are often on the subject of lawsuits.

During these few days I worried I was falling in love with her, and I felt very sad that she didn’t feel the same way. Apart from taking a 2-day break from Twitter so I wouldn’t be tempted to tweet at Lynne, and also so I could mentally ‘regroup’ (I’d need all my faculties to defend against her if she publicised it – her intelligence would make her a formidable opponent) I kept my public image up, in case she or others she’d told were checking my timeline, whether out of concern or to gloat or check if I was bitching about her. I was  tweeting all the necessary stuff about the petition and running @NoOneUnrapable, as well as tweeting links to songs and generally making it look like I wasn’t pining after her every 2 seconds or desperately googling “how not to fall in love” and “decrease serotonin production immediate effect”. It was like the full version of the song ‘Jolly Sailor Bold’ in the Pirates of the Carribean film I bought to distract me from Lynne. I was like the stupidly besotted Maria of the song: “I disdain all glittering gold/There is nothing can console me/But my jolly sailor bold”. She leaves a life of wealth just because her “heart is pierced by Cupid”. And I was in the same idiotic mess; nothing could comfort me and all I wanted was to speak to her, for her to like me again, or ideally to love me as I believed I loved her. (God this doesn’t half make me feel icky just typing this…it’s like the godawful ramblings of a lovesick teen in a Disney adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.)

Though I missed talking to her, I was determined not to be the first one to speak again; I tried to apologise again, and admit it was true – I’d previously denied it, claiming to be tweeting as the parody; but could never bring myself to do it because I felt so annoyed with her. After that I kept avoiding Lynne so I wouldn’t be tempted to flirt with her, because I liked her even more now. I think I tweeted at her once or twice, to which she didn’t respond (or didn’t see) but mostly I fell into a habit of avoiding her even after I no longer had the crush.

Then it was exam season, and in the early hours of the 2nd of May, a lighthearted reply to someone’s tweet caught up with me: it sparked a four-hour Twitter war against me over the fact I’d worked with Ruth for less than 2 weeks. (Actually, given that I publically announced that I was no longer working with her on 18th March, shortly after Lynne DM’d me confirmation of why she was pissed off, it might have been just a few days.) A few were in a clique, then 2 others started independently after the main group had nearly stopped. I was shocked because I’d thought the Ruth thing was long dead – she’d been gone for months, before the petition was even up – before I’d written the thing. Nothing she’d worked towards had happened; I hadn’t gone ahead with the blog we’d planned, and used my own blog as the base instead. I successfully fended off all five with reasoned arguments, not missing beats even as sympathetic DMs poured in – some people even outed themselves to me as previous sex workers and clients! That really gave me strength, that all these people were being so supportive -in most cases to someone they’d hardly ever talked to. Some even gave me ideas for what to say. “This is why so few sex workers take up activism,” one person DM’d the following day; “you’re a real sex worker activist now”. I’m not a sex worker activist though. Actually, according to some of the people who were arguing with me, I’m not even a sex worker because selling virginity doesn’t count. That made me smile, because it reminded me of a blog post I’d written where I said the sex worker community is supportive and less divided than the feminist movement, and that nobody had said I wasn’t a real sex worker! (I still think that’s true. Sure, street sex workers get thrown under the bus, LGBT sex workers, partial service and male sex workers have less of a voice, and of course there’s the usual Tory vs anarcho-socialist drama that gets pulled in from the most mainstream sort of politics. And some activists are feminists, some aren’t. But it’s still a more cohesive movement than feminism).

That night, I realised I’m a very fast typer. Publically I was alone as people felt too intimidated to back me, especially those coming from positions of privelege and those who didn’t want to out themselves as sex workers. I was shaking and sweating, and that alarmed me at first because I didn’t understand what was happening. Then I realised it must be the effect of the adrenalin; I was getting such an adrenalin rush that it was wrecking my system. I was literally high on arguing! They called me a manipulative liar who was posing as a sex worker to lend credence to an anti. They said Ruth had deliberately created the petition to make sure it’d fail, that she and a hidden group of antis had used me as a pawn (that secret group doesn’t exist. Ruth is the closest thing to an anti I’ve ever talked to, unless you count @ing Stella Marr, Julie Bindel and Rhoda Grant in tweets. Oh, and my epically long, tongue-in-cheek Facebook reply to Richard Lucas, which I blogged). A brief search revealed one had bragged about “stalking” me and had blogged an expose of me, encouraging other sex workers  to “call [me] out”. I was kind of impressed until I realised that by “stalking” she meant “read this blog” and by “calling out” she meant “reveal to the internet that I’m selling virginity” which, like, I’ve already kind of done with this blog and my Twitter bio and my tweets and my Facebook account and this blog’s Facebook page and my short-lived LinkedIn profile and my comments on the Daily Dot, Huffington Post and Jezebel and… I mean, it’s hardly the standard of sleuthing I employed to find BSkillet81’s real identity, is it, dear readers stalkers? If they’d bothered to read my Twitter bio they’d have seen I was selling virginity and could have clicked through to this blog from my bio. The standard of “stalking” (i.e. reading my blog) wasn’t that great; they seemed to think I pledged to sell virginity on this blog but had yet to do anything, which isn’t true; by the time I created this blog I’d sold sexual services twice, sold erotic art and had a deal that after a couple more times I would sell him my virginity. I have never pledged to sell, lose or retain my virginity, whether online or in real life.

The Five also said lots of other things, but as I said, I’m not dredging up the past. At around 4 am it stopped, and I went offline and tried to stop myself shaking, which was hard because the adrenalin was still coursing through my bloodstream. I made a mental note to look into controlling adrenalin rushes, and went to bed. The next afternoon I wrote a blog post outlining why sex workers should support the petition, which was retweeted even by certain people who’d been against it. The irony was that I’d have deleted it if enough sex workers had wanted me to. But whenever I asked The Five if I should delete it, they ignored the question. The next afternoon most of the tweets were gone. I’d expected it but I was still a little surprised because they’d argued like they were sure they were totally right. I guessed that they felt brave enough at night when the people I talk to and the rest of the UK were offline, but as day dawned and my tweeps started logging on, it didn’t look like such a good idea. Perhaps another reason is that they thought I’d just take it since I’m young and they were in a group, but when I argued my corner till one by one they stopped, they realised I’m not such easy game. Maybe they even expected me to blog about it and deleted the tweets so I can’t prove it happened or blog the screenshots. But I had no interest in causing further divisiveness; I blogged (I was drafting the blog in my head while they were tweeting at me), but I blogged a reasoned argument about the politics of it and didn’t name names. That would have been counterproductive; it would have achieved my own ends, but the petition is much bigger than me or them or our differences. A lot of people thought I’d be upset about it, but conflict thrills me and I live for it. And when you’ve had the experiences I’ve had, you soon become desensitised to it all. I’ve taken down much more powerful people than them, and been subjected to far worse and more hurtful accusations and even more sudden attacks. The Five were calm and reasonable compared to some of the stuff I’ve dealt with before.

One person from the previous night said the petition was permanently tainted. I like her and her group blog, so I felt kind of surprised because though she’s not a friend, I talked to her a lot and we were always retweeting each other; we reblogged each other too, a few months back, and comment on each others’ blogs. It was her who said I was deliberately putting someone in danger with my tweets from the parody account because sex workers wouldn’t let me save them. I’d asked her to email me her real name so I could put her name on the petition, as she’d told me I should have put her name on it, but she refused saying it was tainted, so maybe that’s why she said I deliberately put someone at risk of being sued? (Because she felt she looked stupid refusing to put her name on it after saying her name should be on it). I’ll never know, and I don’t hold it against her. We’re on the same side, after all. Even if I don’t count as a sex worker, my blogging would at least make me a sex worker ally. Whatever I choose to call myself, I can’t deny that I’m not a part of this movement. And nothing shocks me that much anymore. Nothing compares to when I ‘lost’ Lynne, anyway.

The day of my last exam arrived – 26th May. We were planning to celebrate with a night out a little way away from where I live. Me and Leanne were in her house for pre-clubbing drinks and she asked me if I’ve made up with Lynne yet, I was like no, and maybe I just have to start talking to her again. I still didn’t want to be the first one, and I was worried she didn’t like me and didn’t want to speak to me, but I still missed her even though I didn’t fancy her. I think it’s because I like her (platonically) and I could confide in her, like I do Leanne, Lochlan and Rachel. A couple of hours later we were out in a small town in Fife with some other students and a couple of graduates, and we were in a pub and this guy we were with – an Eng Lit grad who was shown Lynne’s blog by Leanne’s friend Maria- was totally ranting about how much he hates Lynne and this was really distracting for me and annoying cos it made me wonder what she thinks of me. It made me miss her or feel uncomfortable every time he mentioned her. I couldn’t even defend her because of the situation; I had to keep my eyes on the prize and I think even Lynne would have preferred me to do this. He was going on and on as if he was auditioning for a part in a reality TV show called “Why I hate Lynne” and the prize was a brain transplant (believe me, the guy needs that transplant). He’s even more obsessed with her than I was when I had a crush on her.  I wondered briefly if he secretly fancied her or something.

Then he did something that I knew I had to tell her about, only how could I because if I talked to her she might think I was doing my personal designs again (see The Lynne Blog) or that I was using this as an excuse to start talking to her again. I actually did consider talking to her again by telling her this, but I wanted to avoid running back to her. I knew she was ignoring me (probably) but I wasn’t sure. I kinda wanted to ask her if she wanted me to stop it being publicised, because through Maria, I could’ve got the guy to not show anyone; but I suspected she’d probably want it publicised to show what a tool he and his friends are. I didn’t defend her over this thing, either, and just kept doing what I do best. What kept me going was knowing Lynne would support what I was doing and so would’ve probably preferred me to keep at it instead of telling the guy to shut it. Thankfully the guy left shortly afterwards to meet up with his brother and I told Leanne. That night me and Leanne were at her place talking about Carlotta, who used to be good friends with Leanne but hasn’t talked to her for months. I kinda miss Carlotta, too; I knew her to talk to. “Do you think of her [Lynne] every day?” she asked. “I think of her like every hour,” I replied, which was true, especially in those few days. Meeting Lynne’s friend Ramona and having the guy bitch about her hadn’t exactly made things easier; in fact, when I met Ramona it reminded me of when I’d met her. The circumstances were slightly similar. Me and Leanne made a deal that I’d make up with Lynne and she’d make up with Carlotta. Leanne said that if I know for sure that Lynne’s ignoring me, I’ll still feel better than not knowing.

Next morning I told Ramona what the guy had done, so she would tell Lynne. I knew Lynne would find out through gossip anyway but I thought that wouldn’t be a very nice way to find out. I knew passing a message would seem too obviously avoiding her, and I worried that Ramona would say I should tell her myself since I was there. It wasn’t really private enough to absolutely need a DM so I couldn’t say I needed someone to pass it through a DM because I couldn’t DM her. (Ramona didn’t tell her; Lynne eventually found out from a video that got shared on Twitter – the worst way possible). I felt kinda bad about that because I knew I’d put my own pride before her, which was selfish. And also paranoid – she would never think I was using it as an excuse to talk to her or flirting with her. There was no reason I couldn’t have just told her.

After that morning, I sent 2 tweets to her over 2 or 3 days, to which she didn’t reply. The first one she probably didn’t see. For the second one, I asked her directly if she was ignoring me – though I didn’t use the word “ignoring”, which she also ignored. So I figured she very probably was ignoring me indefinetly. Then she was talking to me about the video, and you’d think I’d be happy but I didn’t feel anything. I just didn’t care when Twitter said she’d followed me. I sort of did a mental shrug and thought, ‘whatever she wants to do.’ Then I was worried she’d seen The Lynne Blog and sussed she’s Lynne, and was following so she could tell me just how annoyed she is that I wrote about her on the internet. (She’s done it too, and I’d assume most bloggers have written about others without permission, but in my experience people think it’s okay for them to do it but get angry when others do the same thing to them. Nobody ever really thinks turnabout’s fair play.)

When she said it was re the video, that was a relief, though while DM’ing her I worried that since she’s not ignoring me now she might check this blog. “She’s DM’ing me now! Might delete the Lynne blog!” I DM’d Rachel (that’s an approximation; I’m not copy/pasting). “Lynne is? Yeah, you should delete it if you’re worried,” she replied. I highlighted all the text, copied it and was going to paste it into a document, when I realised something: if I delete it every time I worry she’ll see it, I’ll be forever deleting and reposting it. So I’ll keep it and this blog right here (she’s not following me now so chances are she won’t see this unless she clicks on a retweet). I was a bit annoyed at her ignoring me for months and then using me to get info, like she just uses me when she likes to. I mean, she’s all “I don’t interact with people who have personal designs on me” and then when I’ve got something she wants, it’s “email me”. I was careful not to say anything that might make her think I still fancy her (she probably thinks I still do, because how would she know any different?) and I didn’t want her to know I’d missed her. I think I pulled it off; Lynne’s very intelligent but I think I did the cool professional distance thing quite well. I mean, I’m not going to wag my tail like an excited puppy just because someone stops ignoring me to ask me stuff. But then I figured, she’s not using me because what other choice did she have; the info was important and she’s not using me for her own benefit. Really, I should’ve told her immediately; I sometimes tweet from my phone and that’s what I should’ve done, before we’d even left the pub. I think in the future I would never put my own pride before telling someone something important. It was selfish and counterproductive, and I should’ve thought a bit more about the fact me and her are on the same side against the guy. I was really angry with the guy. Not just pissed off, but actually angry.

And I know what I did made her uncomfortable by flirting with her and was a stupid idea anyway. It was definetly unprofessional. Aside from her writing, ideas and activism, the other thing that attracted me to Lynne is that I’m (usually) unable to predict what she’ll say next. With everyone else I can almost always tell and it’s very rare for me to be surprised by what anyone says. It’s also very easy for me to steer and control conversations. But I know it’d be hard or impossible for me to steer any conversation with her, unless it was her will that she be steered, or if we shared the same goal. Dear God; to have won over so many enemies, from teens to middle-aged professionals, only to at last find my match in someone I have a crush on, and realise that all my debating skills and tricks are useless against her (i.e. can’t make her fancy me). And to have got everyone I ever fancied on the internet (the only barrier to sexytime being distance, and we did exchange photos and videos and punish each other) except the only one I thought  loved…it’s ironic.

Back then, I couldn’t accept that she didn’t feel the same way and so I felt sad. But then I accepted it and so I felt okay about it; that this was to way it was to be. I don’t worry that much about her reading this or the Lynne Blog now, because she hasn’t read the Lynne Blog so far. I’ve been looking into blocking all IP addresses from her district to the URL of the Lynne Blog, but so far it looks like it only works with countries. If she ever read it I bet she’d say, “How dare you write about me publically and publicise your perverted designs! When I read it I almost barfed all over my laptop. But then I didn’t, because the food was too good to throw up- I made it all out of stuff we grew ourselves!! Pretty cool, eh?! Was fab noms. PS. OMG I just read that you thought it was love you sick little bitch, I think I am going to throw up now.” Then, five minutes later: “PPS. Did you know that cleaning vomit off a laptop is easier if it’s organic vomit? I might write an article about it.”

Or something like that. (That is what she actually sounds like.) Anyway I’m glad we’re on speaking terms now. It feels really good to have blogged all that, though I daresay SOMEONE will get pissed off about SOMETHING I’ve said. Such is the way of the world. It’s also interesting that, no matter how much I miss interacting with someone or want to tell them something, my pride appears to come first! What all of this stuff taught me is that while I can influence the world around me, my abilities are only useful in a battle situation. They can’t bring peace, understanding or induce someone to like me the same way I like them. I’m not, after all, invincible. Yes, I can debate and that’s how I saw off The Five on May 2nd, but I was powerless when the solution required wasn’t debate.

I know Lynne doesn’t see me as a friend, or she wouldn’t have hurt me like that, and that doesn’t bother me; though I think I’ll always like her more than she does me. And when I think back to the events of 17th and 18th March, it makes me smile. It is funny, and I never thought I’d say that! What fails to kill you does indeed make you stronger. Sometimes I think I don’t even give a shit if she sees this or The Lynne Blog. So what if she wants to whinge about how unfair it is that I’ve written about her; I’ll delete anything she thinks is defamatory, but it’s my blog and I’ll have on it what I fecking want. And since I’ve publicised all this, there’s no reason she can’t write about me (and call me Kalika) if she thinks I’ve misrepresented anything. And maybe she wouldn’t even care that I wrote about her, just like I vastly overestimated her pissed-offedness (is that a word?) about me flirting with her. Roland didn’t care (though he’s much more laid-back than Lynne). I bet she just says “those blog posts of yours were not on” and follows me so she can immediately unfollow. Heh.

Lynne’s dramatic rejection was humbling for a woman to whom the world has abused, disillusioned, given many injustices to, but, ultimately, denied nothing. Maybe my annoyance wasn’t so much at her, but the impotent rage of someone who discovers for the first time that they cannot take and hold with their brain and their two hands; that yes, they can balance the scale and redress the inequalities that the world has bestowed on them, but only so far, and that there are occasionally limits to one’s influence. When she was asking me about the video, I thought she is a world-class bitch who could bitch for Scotland, and soon she’ll make a successful career bitching professionally, maybe one day even compete in the Bitchlympics. But that’s totally untrue; what else could she do? If I’d had an ounce of responsibility and sense, I’d have told her; she wouldn’t need to ask. Like, I could be being sued right now if it’s not for her and yet I still don’t tell her something important?! Perhaps I’m the one who’ll be holding the Gold medal for the hundred-minute bitch.

How do I conclude this? These hot days, when the sun stirs my blood and all I desire is sex and conflict, it feels strange to look back to these times, though some of this happened only two months ago. Working with Ruth was a mistake, and I wish I could erase Lynne’s memory of that particular tweet, but as usual I regret nothing. I live, I miscalculate, and I learn. And so do we all. I should have been more direct with Lynne, I think, which is my usual style. I should not have deviated from my regular approach. My reason for so deviating was to avoid awkwardness on Twitter in future and because Alexis, Lochlan and Rachel didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her. But all of that is immaterial; the hour of my deflowering draws nearer, and in this as in all things I will somehow triumph. I am, after all, Kalika.


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