Sometimes, I Scare Myself

Keith Williamson, flickr, Creative Commons.

Perhaps I should just stick to squiggly lines.

“Don’t post shit about eating  just a handful of tomatoes, you bitch. You pissed me off!”

A dear friend kindheartedly said this yesterday in response to my “I love being thin” blog post. We were laughing about it together but it definitely fed right into my own, personal aftermath of writing about such a scary thing.

My poor husband has had to listen to endless self-absorbed and insecure questions:

“Do you think I was being a total dick?”

“Oh god, do you think this is why my blog stats dipped for a couple days?”

“I hope so-and-so doesn’t hate me now.”

Etc.

I know I’m supposed to be the writer here…I’m supposed to play the part of the staunchly unapologetic figure who offers unwavering opinions.

But, that’s just not who I am. I never have been.

I wish I could be more like my other writer/artist friends. They all seem to have perfected the skill of easily batting away doubts or criticism with a simple, “If they don’t get it, fuck ‘em.”

My husband, who spent more than a decade on stage, playing music for huge crowds (or, sometimes, empty rooms), is an expert at letting stuff like this roll off his back.

I say “stuff like this” as if there’s some sort of evidence to justify this internal struggle. Truth is, I haven’t even received much feedback from that post. No hate mail. No harsh words.

This is all in my fucked up head.

So why do I write when I know I may hurt someone’s feelings and then have to put myself and my husband through days of worrying about the impact of my words to the mere handful of people that constitute my readership even when I don’t have any proof that I’ve pissed anyone off to begin with?

I don’t fucking know!

And it’s really annoying.

All I know is that I tried to not be a writer for over a year. I was bored, under-stimulated, and miserable.

So here I am. Writing. Plunging into daily self-indulgence and insisting that I expose this vile exercise to others.

And, potentially, causing people to hate me.

I guess the only thing that I can ask from my readers who take offense by my writing (which, with time, will most likely include all my readers) is to please keep reading.

I promise I’ll soon write some silly shit again that will make you laugh and feel good.

Deal?