Friday Theme the second.
He finds it hard to concentrate on work before she has blogged for the day. He keeps the mouse hovering over the refresh button. Click, click, click. Sometimes he starts a game of Minesweeper, but he loses patience, keeps clicking at random, even after he’s blown a mine.
Usually she blogs mid-morning, and he can settle down and attempt to do some work. Some days she doesn’t blog until the afternoon, and he spends most of the day switching restlessly from one window to another. Work, blog, work, blog.
He knows they are deeply connected. The week he discovered her blog, the newspaper horoscope said he was destined to encounter love. She had a list of 100 things about her, and at number 53 he found her birthday. Leo, his perfect match.
He devoures each entry like a love letter, like an electronic caress. Sometimes he sends her signs of his devotion. Screeds of comments flowing after her entries. He shares his passions with her, his hopes. He doesn’t know her name, but he imagines something slightly foreign, like Chloe or Madeleine.
She’s late today. His stomach is grumbling, but he doesn’t want to leave his desk. He searches in his desk for a muesli bar to nibble on.
Her entry slides onto the net while he is rummaging through the drawer. When he goes back to check the page, her words load into his mind.
Today she is blogging about creeps on the net who think they’re in love with her. “None of you know anything about me,” she says. “You’re just cyber creeps.”
He is aghast. The indignation spreads through his veins, chilling his blood. He types a heated comment, fuelled by anger. He’s disgusted.
How could anyone do this to his precious flower?
Posted by Fionnaigh at September 26, 2003 04:48 PM