I suppose it is generally agreed that one should speak nicely in the public square.
Generally, but not completely. Sometimes unpleasant things need to be said, and many times they don't. And in between, there is the right thing said the wrong way. That's an easy in-between space to fall into, especially in the heat of passion, and . . . truly . . . what's the point of expressing one's self if one can't feel a little passion in one's words?
And yet, nothing comes for free, not even freedom of speech or press. You can say whatever you like, you just have to accept what happens when others hear it. Especially when they hear it a bit differently than the way you were sure you said it. Speak long enough and loudly enough, and you're going to find yourself unhappy with the results at some point, unless you are truly disordered in the brain.
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be bloggers . . . .
Of course, I was in this pickle long before the internet and blogging began, so I can hardly blame the blogging things. The frequency and pace of the posting life just makes it more likely that I'm eventually going to have upset, pissed off, or merely earned a dismissive wave and lack of interest from just about every English-speaking Sherlockian on Earth at one point or the other. And if I'm lucky, when I'm dead, some sweet soul will acknowledge all that in a kindly fashion and yet say something positive about me in some "Stand with me on the terrace" summation. In the meantime, however . . .
Well, some days are less fun than others.
Do I enjoy mocking the crap out of Elementary? Yes, I do.
Do I enjoy the reactions I get from those who like the show? No, I don't.
Will I expect to raise questions about accepted Sherlocki-fan wisdom in a sometimes pointed manner? Yes, I will.
Will I expect to be "How could you even think that?" wrong when I do? No, I won't.
We're all coming from different places, different life stories, and I'm writing not knowing what's going on out there with most of the folks who read the blog. Me, I'm currently working on four hours of sleep out of the past thirty six, in two two-hour chunks. Which is probably why I'm using up a whole post with a self-centered apology to anybody left reading, instead of focussing on this evening's "The Sign of the Three."
So, to everyone I'm currently not entertaining with the generally unfiltered stuff out of my head, to everyone I've offended, bothered, or bedeviled in the past -- Or in the future. Your day is coming! -- I would like to offer a sincere apology. I am sorry if you got hit when I was swinging wildly at my imaginary devils like the town crazy. (Who else did you think pontificates in the city square on a daily basis?) Were I to indulge my common sense, I might give this up and retreat to a life of private conversations and unpublished fictions, just to spare all of you, and myself, the troubles.
But among other things, I'm kind of a contrary cuss, even when it comes to my own comfort. So on with the show. Take only as needed.