I'm a natural blogger. I've been writing long annoying letters and essays since I've discovered the ability to string two sentences together on paper. It is not the need to write that drives this. It is the need to communicate in a controlled form. To say what I need to say when my verbal inability to edit fails me. Which it often does. Especially in a panicked state.
Our marriage has some spectacular tests of strength, especially as of late. Resulting from unusual circumstance, bad luck and residual damage from learned bad habits of self preservation. I honestly think there are no right or wrong as much as bad choices and....apologies for using the word twice in a paragraph....damages. Nevertheless there is anger and great fear fucking with love. And when I panic, I grab on to my lifelong life preserver...the things that has kept me alive through abuses and pain and terror....words. I need to talk. I need to analyze. I need to understand. I think most people do but I do it to death. So to my husband who is in many aspects an angel to tolerate my quirks these many years (but, to be fair it works both ways, Gorgeous), I apologize for all of the dead horses I have beaten trying to convey my love and fear and I thank you for listening as long as you could tolerate it. Your kindness has not been unnoticed.
The writing kind of folk that I am born into have a blessing. When you see a new child grow into their new world, they always hit a point of exasperation when they haven't learned to talk but they are desperate to communicate. I don't think we ever forget the gift of finally being able to tell people what feelings are like. But sometimes we need an editor.
So here's the deal, my love, I will shut the fuck up on the wordiness but allow me to write it down. I will work with the best form of communication to be digested when you can stand it. I cannot promise to stop thinking. I can promise to do it in a manner that can be edited. If only I were as bleached as I look, right?
No comments:
Post a Comment