I’m just going to publish this. I’ve been too much in my own head lately. Hesitant. Self-doubting. Self-censoring. Worrying what this person and that person will think. Thinking too much about my audience and not enough about my voice.
Odie says I have to stop thinking about how to fill a niche and just write. And he’s right.
My blog. My thoughts.
And sometimes, it can’t all be perfect intro, body, and conclusion with a witty callback. If I hold myself to that standard every time, I’ll do what I’ve been doing the past few months. Procrastinating.
I’ve been Tweeting a lot, because it’s easy. If you are on Twitter, consider following me @MrsOdie2. I follow all my followers. Some of you are damn funny. I dislike people who only use Twitter for promotion. It’s boring. I like to go onto Twitter and chuckle at aphorisms, not find out where and when I can see, hear, read something funny or interesting you might someday say.
Jon Armstrong’s blog last week sent me to a land of ick. In his post “Firsts” http://blurbomat.com/2012/02/29/firsts/, he writes about his daughters’ first overnight at his new apartment. I remember my father’s first bachelor pad after the divorce. At first, he stayed with a friend. Someone who ironically my mother had an affair with and she later ended up marrying and divorcing. I don’t know if this was known to my father or not. The only thing he ever said about it is “There were no good guys in that story.” Fair enough. He ended up, or I should say started out, in a fully furnished, no-bedroom place in a shitty part of town. It had a rough textured, ugly plaid couch and a Murphy bed. I remember there being a mirror near the entry way, because his girlfriend would always come into the room, turn to the mirror and make sexy faces at herself, while making sure her paper-thin hair was covering her bulimia bald spot.
I was about 13. I didn’t want my parents apart. I didn’t know or care why they chose to be apart. I wanted my family. I needed my big sister to stop being angry and my little sister to stop being sad. And I needed to stop having to pretend that I was doing great and I was “fine with it.” It was exhausting. Pretending I didn’t give a shit for so long so that my parents wouldn’t feel like the divorce was destroying me eventually turned into a struggle to feel and empathize. I still have this struggle.
Dooce and Jon have to do what is right for them. I just wish that there was a way for them to get back together. I want for them what my parents were unable to give to me.
That being said, I’m glad my dad married his second wife. She is Family Jesus.
She came over this morning and helped get Viva ready for day care then drove her there. This way I can write during Pringles’ happy/easygoing part of the day. Or try to. She’s in the high chair right now. I’m trying “self-feeding” with her, but finding that she likes to have goo spooned into her yapper.
She’s fussing so much now, I have to continue this later. But I’m hitting “publish.” If I don’t, then I never will and I will get out of my flow. I have to keep publishing, even when I’m not crazy about the result. Thanks for your support.
Even when you don’t write yourself into your won “type” you still speak the truth in such a way that it is “safe” to “look.” Thanks for publishing even if you’re not 100% about the result, I need something to read that works the mind.
*own* for the love of G-d I can not type, or spell.
You can do both. I’ve seen it happen.
I love the family Jesus. I am sad about your parent’s divorce.
Glad you’re back, sounding more like “yourself”!
I neglect my blog too, now preferring a short, easy blurb on face-book that gets immediate feedback/comments. I’m not the writer you are and, although I enjoy it, writing the blog is work and I am hesitant to REALLY say what is on my mind for fear everyone will discover my hidden psychoses!
I want to be the family Jesus when I grow up.
“Pretending I didn’t give a shit for so long so that my parents wouldn’t feel like the divorce was destroying me eventually turned into a struggle to feel and empathize. I still have this struggle.”
This is what I did as well, with similar repercussions. Since I was 8 years old, I parroted the phrase “It didn’t affect me too much. They fought all the time, so I knew it was for the best.” Like a grade schooler is mature enough to really accept that without emotional fallout. But the alternative was making my mom feel even shittier about a life in which she already felt like a failure; an outlook aided and partially created by my dad’s ongoing habit of criticizing everything about his wives and children. He calls it “encouragement.”
Reading about your perspective on this really helps to shed some light on some of my own issues. I’m in the second year of my marriage and I’m beginning to feel the swell of dysfunction from both my and my husband’s pasts. Although I am confident that therapy is on the horizon for me/us, it seems the insights you’ve gained though your counseling, parenting, and 10 more years of life experience could tide me over.
At the very least, you’re making me a better writer…knowing my words are being read by an English teacher brings out my old need to measure up in grammar and structure.