At Least They're Committed

Then she got an idea. An awful idea. Tripping Raul got a wonderful, awful idea.

“I know just what I’ll do,” TR laughed in her throat. “I’ll . . . ”

“What are you doing?” he steps into my room.

“Oh, hey. An audience, cool!”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I got this idea. An awful idea, I got a . . . . ”

“Yeah, yeah. Spill it,” he smirks. I mean, he really already knows, right? He just wants to hear me say it, or maybe I just feel the need to say it. Hard to tell.

“I’m going to occasionally write ‘placeholders’ on here that will filter up into the ‘readers’ and then I’ll sometimes go back and change everything! Muwahahahaha!”

“Meaning.”

“I’ll be doing the reverse of what I had been in the past!” I squeal. “All the nice stuff will be in the reader, I’ll be vague but not too vague, and then I’ll replace it with the sordid, mostly indiscernible stuff.”

“So, only the people who actually go to your blog will notice.”

“Yes! And nobody will know whether what is in the reader is the real thing or not. And most people are not that interested in my rather cryptic comments, so only one or two will check the blog itself! Yay me!”

“Uh-huh. You’re losing it.”

“OF COURSE I AM! WOULDN’T YOU BE? Yet, I can see you’re thrilled by my clever scheme. Thank you.”

“Right. Are you going to rewrite this one?”

“Nah. . . . at least I don’t think so. I guess you just never know.”