To You

No, stop wondering, I'm addressing this post to you. Yes, you, the person currently reading this particular post of my blog. I've decided to stop complaining about how "difficult" my life is for one night, and we--- we need to talk about our complicated relationship. Yes, this is one of those serious moments where you wipe that smile off your face, and you get an "oh shit" feeling in your gut.

Now, if you are not completely retarded (and I do hope you're not), you should realise that I have a life off the internet. I am a real person, I go to school, I have a bunch of friends and are associated with certain people etc., etc. This blog is essentially a massive spill of the frustrations of my personal life. Note: personal. The obvious question, I guess then, is "WHY ARE YOU SHARING THIS WITH THE INTERNET IF IT'S SO PERSONAL?" Well, because I need a place to vent, and sadly I do not have anyone who can tolerate all of my complaints at once. I have many frustrations, some of them more serious than others, whilst most are just fucking pathetic. I know they are. But that doesn't mean they're going to stop bothering me, and it doesn't mean that I'm going to magically get over it. I hate to hold all my frustrations in- now that I've experienced the relief of sharing my misery, I don't think I'd like to go back to keeping all my frustrations internal.

Due to the sensitive nature of some of my posts- e.g. the ones where I rage hard at my parents (I only hate them on an on-and-off basis), I try to keep my posts completely detached from life off the internet. Don't understand what completely detached means? Here, let me rephrase it for you in retard language: I. Am. Two. Different. People. Online. And. Offline. And. I. Do. Not. Want. My. Two. Identities. To. Be. Associated (oh sorry, is this word too hard?). With. Each. Other. If you still don't understand, that's okay, because you're probably semi-illiterate and you wouldn't understand half the stuff I write anyway.

Vane is my name. It's just not a name which appears on any of my legal documents. However, Vane still refers to me. Understand the concept of a nickname? That's what "Vane" is. However, only a few close friends know my legal name as well as "Vane". Even fewer of those read anything I post on here. I guess this post is really addressed at you guys.

Guys, for fuck's sake, don't share my blog with people in real life. I guess it's my fault for not making it clear enough when I said I "wanted attention". That's why I'm telling you now. I want internet fame, not real world fame. These are two completely and utterly different concepts. What's great about the internet? Anonymity. I went by Vane instead of "Anon" to be vaguely creative. It's okay for me to go into this kind of personal stuff if it's you guys. You're my close friends, anyway. I would've related similar content to you over  an instant messenger or face to face. The reason I don't, as I've mentioned, is because I know my troubles are pathetic and I don't want to annoy you. I know none of you would seriously shut me off in a conversation, if I were to tell you how my parents were annoying me yadayada. Do you want to hear that though? Probably not. Well, at least I'm giving you a choice by posting it on a blog.

NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY FUCKING BLOG.

If you think I complain too much--- yeah, I do. And? At least I had the decency to give you an option of not hearing any of this at all.

As for my other readers: probably just some dude/chic surfing the internet, and you just stumbled across this blog. Cool. The story of my life is on here. It's pretty average. Feel free to have an opinion of me. That's fine, because you probably don't know who I am unless you're a major stalker. I'm just another kid who posts angsty stuff. As if you don't see enough of this crap around on the internet. You don't care, and that's why I love you.

Yet, if someone who was not a friend, happened to draw the link between my real life identity and Vane, well I'm in a lot of shit. Don't contemplate showing this blog to my teachers, not even at graduation. I don't fucking care if it's going to be "the last time" I see them. Fucking don't. Some of you tell me that I'm too obsessed with my teachers. I'm not obsessed. I will quite openly and freely admit that I like them. I like them a lot. I like them better than most people. You just think I'm obsessed because they're my teachers. If I talked about another one of my friends to the same extent, you'd think it was normal. And you know what? I think you're more obsessed about them than I am. Or rather, you're obsessed with the fact that you think I'm obsessed about them.

In the end though, they're teachers. True, I like them. Yeah, I treat them more as a friend. Yet there's a professional code of conduct which I respect, and this blog draws the line. Offline, I'm a student. Online, I rant about everyone and everything. Let's keep it that way. I don't want this to get awkward in real life. I have my own relationships to maintain, and I'd appreciate it if they weren't sabotaged by you unconsciously. I like my relationship with them the way it is now, let's not make it more intimate.

Got it? Good.