Working in the information technology field, I have signed my fair share of NDAs. Why did I need to sign them? Who knows. I’ve really never been close enough to any industrial secrets that would be worth knowing. Would they hold the weight of a legal challenge? Who knows. Only one thing is for sure: once my paycheck stops having your name up top, I consider your NDA effectively null and void.
Now that that’s out there, it’s a little intimidating to follow up. I’m not unveiling some secret knowledge of a hundred mile per gallon carburetor or some deep dark secret of the San Jose Mercury News. I’ve got no special proof of faked moon landings or atrocities hidden from view. I… Uh…
I met a girl.
It was nice.
I fell in love too fast and too hard, and I wanted too much. But she didn’t seem to care as long as I agreed to one thing.
I couldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t ever supposed to end up here, she was quite clear.
And now it’s over.
I grew to loathe it. I hate feeling like someone is ashamed of me, which is what that secrecy felt like. It didn’t feel exciting, it didn’t feel “bad” or hot. It just felt like I was that thing at your house you put in the garage when company comes over.
I hate the way it ended, I hate how I feel right now. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of being up at night. I’m tired of feeling this way, and if anything I could do made me feel any different I’d be doing it.
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