One of my roommates in college was always just a little too aware of me—of my schedule, how much money I spend, when I change shampoo, clothes that I buy, what I eat, content of my emails, who calls me and why. She had a knack of always being around to overhear sensitive phone conversations. (Mind you, this predates widespread mobile phone use so our 900 MHz cordless meant we really couldn’t leave the room). There were those moments when she betrayed details of stories I was positive I had never told her. And there were also moments when I witnessed my friends duck behind walls or lampposts when she passed just to avoid the inevitable ambush of conversation.
She wasn’t really my friend, but I began hearing opinions on how bizarre and not-right she was only after I decided to room with her. I started avoiding my room, going back to pack a week’s worth of clothes and books, and then heading over to my boyfriend’s place. During that time, she always happened to be in his vicinity, just dropping in on the off chance I was there. Just to say ‘Hi!’
Although I would never be able to prove it in court, I am positive she had gone through my belongings more than once—my papers, letter, clothes, mementos. What bothered me is not that she had gone through my things, but that she would take such interest in doing so. What plausible reason would anyone have in going through my heap of random crap? Or monitor my movements? It’s a little sad and a lot creepy.
I do think this just about approximates the experience of keeping a blog or any public chronicle of one’s personal life. You do it to amuse yourself and your friends. You get comments every now and again. It is fun! And then you start getting odd visitors, people whose interest in your activities is entirely out of proportion to any ostensible relationship you have with them.
This is to be distinguished from the ones who take some kind of prurient interest in you—who proposition you or make odd requests like purchasing your sweaty boots. These guys are creepy, to be sure, but at least their intentions are knowable if not always rational. The most unsettling are the ones that keep their motives quiet.
“Why do you put your personal stuff out there if you don’t want people to see it?” Boyfriends are really the worst with their simplistic solutions. Their natural protective instinct means they will often resort to quick and decisive fixes (which is a most desirable approach for say, pest problems around the house). Other issues require less drastic solutions.
During the worst of my SWF situation, my boyfriend would try fixing the problem by fixing me: “Stop being nice to her if you don’t want to be her friend. Lock up your stuff I you don’t want her going through it.” Yeah, I get it. It’s so simple. Like amputation to deal with a mosquito bite. Why would I allow these people to force me to live behind locked doors, real or virtual?
And I have no intention to. I like being out there, expressing thoughts and personal experiences—sounding my barbaric yawp—for the pleasure of hearing it echo and reverberate. And for the hope that someone might yawp back.
All I want is for the creepy people to stop being creepy.
You there! Yeah you—the one lurking silently out there. I can see you peeping at me. Who are you? Why have you come? Why don’t you come out and say Hello?
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