I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's that I tend to put on an emotional strip show in this journal, and right now I don't think I really want him to see that.
Not that putting it online is much better; if he does just a little linksurfing from one of the sites he visits every day (cameo day! cameo day! He's the one with the beard in Fanboy Otaku Gamer's Club today ... only he shaved yesterday, making it look not so much like him anymore) he's going to come here, identify me immediately by my username, and see himself in damn near every journal entry.
He's one of my best friends; it's natural that he show up in my online life. He's gotten to read bits of my journal before, my paper journal. In that, I write everything I don't need anyone else to see in another language. The guy in question is learning one of the languages that I write in. My sister taught me that language. There's another language I write in that only I and my biological sister know. That's the one I use for the really deep and potentially dangerous personal things in my paper journal.
Online it's a safer sort of place. I can complain about rejection, babble senselessly at all hours, and in general write like I don't care who's reading it.
My sister reads it occasionally. She's generally amused. I haven't shown her the bitchy entries.
I can bitch online. I don't have to act more grown-up than I am. Eventually I'll grow up so much that I won't need to bitch. I hope.
But... ...to have my best guyfriend read the journal entries talking about him?
I wouldn't mind if he read it and said nothing. But if he read it and then confronted me about it...
...I might crumble. I hate crying in front of people. I don't think I've ever actually *cried* in front of him. I've broken down over the phone, so late at night the battery on the cordless had gone dead, with the speakerphone clasped up against my ear, sitting wrapped in a blanket shaking on the floor propped up against the wall, but never that I remember crying in front of him.
I do like to keep my walls up in person.
I can't even talk about the things that matter most to me. I have to write them or type them. The words come smoothly when I'm writing, or typing, though I have more typos now than I did when I was typing my life's story and my life's work every day.
I don't know what's going to happen between me and my best friend. Probably nothing, though we're getting closer ...
It's becoming much easier to smack down the urge to reach with my physical hand and grab.