Posts galore

I was looking at my blog stats this morning and noticed this:

IMG_1711.PNG

500 posts. I knew I had blathered out over 200,000 words, which is a tremendous number, but somehow 500 is a number that actually sort of sinks in. 500 posts since (essentially) mid-July of last year. I am terrible with math, but I think that is around 14,000 words a month.

When I was at the beach in August, I was looking through the guest book and found my name mentioned several times. Everyone commented on how very, very quiet I am. How I never open my mouth. Well, apparently all it takes to make me express myself is to put a keyboard in front of me. I suspect a pencil would have worked as well.

Who knew I had so much to say…

Maybe it’s time to wrap some direction around it.
Maybe it’s best to keep blathering. I enjoy blathering, except when I make myself cry. No, even then.

The thing that is funny is that I haven’t ever been willing to share anything about myself with anyone, and here I am hanging up my emotional laundry for anyone who wanders by.

It’s good for me, I think.

I don’t know.

What do I know?

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I do know this: happy birthday to my tall dark and handsomest friend Nok.
You aren’t the tallest of anyone I have ever met.
Or the handsomest (but you are pretty dang tall and handsome!)
But definitely the best combination of all three!

This is how it feels…

As near as I can describe it, it feels something like this…

I am sitting on the grass. My friends have just gone home, and I am enjoying some time on my own. Maybe I have a beer in my hand. Or a glass of wine. Maybe I have my sunglasses on, or maybe I have my head tilted up at the sky, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my face. Maybe I am reading a book.
I am happy.

You walk over to me, reach out your hand, and smile. I smile up at you, squinting into the sun. I take your hand, you start to pull me up, and just when I am all off balance, you drop my hand and walk away without a word. I end up in the dirt, skinned knees and bruises, my book in the ditch.

When I look for you, I see you off in the distance with your arms around someone else. There is a note from you that I can’t quite read that says something about being busy, too busy.

And I wonder why you reached out to me in the first place if you didn’t want to hold on. I figure there must be a reason, because I know you wouldn’t just drop me without a reason. You wouldn’t do it on purpose. I hope you wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t.

So when you reach out again, it’s only human nature if I hesitate a little bit before I hold my hand out to you. It’s a normal reaction if my smile is a little more uncertain now when I look up. It’s human nature if I wonder if I am going to end up on my knees all bruised again. It’s only natural if I ask you to be careful.

It isn’t because I’m being dramatic, but because there are things going on right now that are hard for me. If I tell you how I feel, it isn’t because I blame you or because I am being critical or hostile, but because I hope you’ll understand that I am a little more breakable than usual right now. It’s because I’m hoping you’ll be kind. It’s because I hope you want to hold onto my hand enough to be willing to work some things out even if they are hard, or even if it makes you uncomfortable.

And it feels like if I can put the words in just the right order and say them with just the right inflection you might understand that it’s OK for you to tell me where you are, and what you’re doing, and why you won’t be around. That I would rather have you let me know you need to take a step back than reach out for my hand if you don’t want it. I would rather hear you say you don’t think I am who you want at all, than have to watch you back away silently.

It feels like I have to take all of the responsibility for what happens into myself because I’m not saying things the right way. And I know that is wrong. I know it is, but that is how it feels.

And every time you tell me I don’t trust you, I know I’m not saying anything the right way, because if I was you would understand that telling you everything is like putting a gun in your hand knowing you won’t use it. I am giving step by step instructions on how to break my heart and trusting that you won’t do it. I’m giving you the keys to my interior nuclear arsenal because I believe you will keep the keys safe.

I will even fight with you, and I am never willing to fight with anyone. I would love you to be willing to fight, too, but all I see is walking away. I think you will come back and reach out again, but I never really know.

I am telling you everything because I do trust you, not because I don’t.

And this is how it feels.

An imaginary conversation about being confused

So what are you going to do?

Fuck, I don’t know.

It seems pretty obvious to me.

I know it does. I wish it did to me.

It doesn’t?

Well, yes, actually it does. It’s totally obvious.

So what’s the problem?

I don’t like it. It feels wrong. The logical thing.

But you know what’s going to happen, right?

My brain does.

And you aren’t listening to your brain because why?

Because my heart says something else. Maybe I’m an idiot.

No, you’re just human.

A human idiot.

No. I’ll support you whatever you do.

Because you are awesome. Too bad I am not in love with you.

It would make some things a lot easier.

I’m sure I could learn to be more gay.

No you couldn’t.

It’s not like I’ve ever tried. Maybe I have an aptitude for it.

I am NOT explaining that to my boyfriend.

Yeah. That might be awkward. Although..technically…he never said you couldn’t go out with other women.

No. That is true. We haven’t had a discussion about that. But I thought you were against the sort of honesty that is based on just not saying things that aren’t true.

Oh, we’re going to be requiring coherency from me now? I’m not sure I am prepared for that.

Only on honesty.

I have to agree with you there. Besides, we are both shitty liars.

Especially me.

Why especially you?

No reason.

Hmm…

Really.

OK. I’m not a good liar either, you know.

I don’t think you’ve ever needed to lie to me about anything, so I wouldn’t know.

I’m too lazy to be a liar. I don’t like keeping track of things that much.

It makes it too easy to be confused.

Right. And we both know I am already confused enough already.

Right.

In my next life, I am coming back as one of those total dicks who never second-guesses himself ever.

Reincarnation? Really? And you want to be a man?

Shut up. I don’t feel like being rational.

I noticed.

Well. Oh, I’ve got nothing. I’m not being rational. I am trying, wildly unsuccessfully, not to overthink something and go with my instincts. It would be a hell of a lot easier if I was being swept off my feet.

That doesn’t appear to be likely. When was the last time you even really talked?

I know, I know. I don’t think I have ever been less swept off my feet in my whole life. It would be kind of nice to have that happen, I think.

You deserve a grand gesture.

I don’t think I am the grand gesture type. I’m probably too cozy for grand gestures or something. A trip to the coast or something would be more my speed. Camping in a yurt.

You don’t even like camping.

A yurt wouldn’t really be camping. Just…someplace with no cell service or wi-fi. Quiet. With water. Maybe a balcony. OK. Not a yurt. A cabin.

What about a bar?

We can bring a cooler.

On your imaginary trip with someone who you aren’t really even quite talking to?

Maybe I should just go to the beach alone…I haven’t done that for years. It could be fun.

It sounds lonely.

Alone is not automatically lonely.

It is for me.

I kind of like it. At the beach it’s nice to have someone who can build a fire, though. I am afraid of fire, but I like to have a fire when I am at the beach.

Having been on fire could make a person a little nervous.

Once burned, twice shy.

That doesn’t just apply to actual fire, you know.

Oh, I know. I definitely know.