Blogs: me and not-me

I'm sitting in the coffee shop right now taking a break from working on the blog-memoir I'm editing. It's funny working with the text of someone else's blog, especially when that person is bipolar: you can kind of see the mood disorder playing out in the transitions between entries. I suspect, though, that the real lows were lower than the ones on the blog, which has a kind of whistling-in-the-dark quality to its bitterest moments. I was just talking to Equinoctial about this phenomenon in myself--even when I'm writing about being unhappy, the act of writing itself cheers me up, so the blog isn't a pefect mirror of the mental state. Well, how could it be? [See class discussion this morning during which we talked ourselves into the idea that realism and romanticism are the same. It involved the prof drawing a lot of triangles on the board. It was not a seminar foul; in fact, fun and interesting]

Anyway, it's raining and I don't want to leave, but I have to go running and then go to grad pub or I'll have missed my social life for the week. But I'm sitting near an open door and that's exactly how close to the elements I want to be. Also, I'm going to complain about the cafe after praising it: the barista was mean to me because I wanted regular coffee instead of an espresso drink! It was hardcore; she was audibly making fun of my coffee with her buddies while it was brewing. Plus she smelled. Aren't you glad you know that?