The other day someone pointed out how different my online self is from my 3-dimensional self. My online self is sassy, bitchy and foul-mouthed; whereas, my 3-D self is cautious, kind and foul-mouthed (some things carry over).
Parenthetically, it should be noted that my online self and 3-D self tend to merge after two potato vodkas.
I have so many selves, I even had to divide myself up on Facebook: one page for Catherine Bardagy Winchild and another page for Writing Out Loud, where I tell you what I REALLY think of Donald Trump. So, that makes 1. 3-D self, 2. Catherine Bardagy Winchild self, and 3. Writing Out Loud self.
I don’t know that compartmentalizing myself is the best idea for my mental health, given that I lean a little bit crazy to begin with. Now, as a feminist, I hate to blame my mother for anything, but, that chick is nuts, and — rumor has it — I have 50% of her genes . (I would tell you I have 50% of my father’s genes, but my mother once told me she wasn’t sure he actually was my father. See: fucking crazy!) ((It should also be noted that I believe my dad is — in fact — my dad. I haven’t swabbed our mouths and sent it off to the CSI television show for DNA testing by all those people who seem to have ENDLESS amounts of time to review One Single Case under blacklights, while accompanied by throbbing music, but I have other empirical evidence, including an undeniable Bardagy sense of humor and a lack of vertical extension.))
I would really like to start merging my selves, but I’m not sure how to proceed. Drinking vodka every day is NOT a solution. That shit would rip my very fragile gut and — besides — the feeling that you’ve had two drinks is what my anti-anxiety meds are for.
I’m so bad at this merging thing that I thought maybe becoming a bitch — online and in 3-D — would be a good start; make all my selves compatible. But I have a hard time distinguishing bitchy from crazy. My mother — thanks to her menopause — now does things like burps in the face of, or yells directly at store cashiers she thinks are giving her attitude. What if my desire to be a bitch is just my peri-menopause talking and not really a good way to merge cbw with CBW?
Merging my selves would mean saying what I say on Facebook out loud, and then not caring about others’ reactions. As I’ve said before, I kinda get a thrill out of shocking people on Facebook, but in 3-D? I had a social interaction this summer that haunted me for 3 months! I can’t handle that on a daily basis.
So, what’s an adorable woman to do? I dunno. At the very least, I’d like to try and better merge my two online selves. And, as I write all this, it occurs to me that maybe having an online persona (just one) is good for my mental health: I get to say most of what I want to say. (This would be a good time to tell you that I actually DO hold things back, but that’s just because so many of my initial thoughts upon reading the news are: republican/douchebag/retarded/blowjobs, and I got a Big Talking To this summer about using the R word (not republican)). Maybe if my mom had a place to share her inner thoughts, she wouldn’t think anyone “high up at the Vatican” was out to get her. Naw. She’s downright certifiable.
So, we’ll see. I’ll try to merge those online selves AND share a little more CBW in 3-D and see how it goes. In the meantime, doesn’t the ‘fiscal cliff’ bullshit in Washington make you think that republicans are such douchebags that they’d offer free blow jobs on the capital steps before taxing the richest of the rich fucktards who have $2.4 million line items for yacht fuel?*
Yeah. YOU try saying that out loud.
* rich person I’m connected to by 3 degrees of separation complained that fueling his yacht ONCE cost $600,000. 600K x 4 yacht trips/year (generous) = 2.4 million/year complaint = Total Fucking Douchebag