This post is a bit late, since I really wanted to post earlier but the day got away from me.
I was very sad this afternoon, so it’s probably a good thing that I DIDN’T post earlier because you, dear InnerNets, would have had to pick me up off the floor. Instead of my lamenting and waxing pathetic to you, you were saved by the cell phone ring, just in the nick of time. Lucky for you. My friend Banana needed my support and a hand to hold hers, so I went to be strong for her instead. I kept my whining to her down to a minimum because she was the one who needed to talk (though I did manage to sneak in a good 20 minutes of my own additions to the bitchfest). Now instead of being sad, I am a bit angry and mostly just despondent. This is where the disclaimer comes in. This is how I feel right now. I will soon not be angry. I may even regret this post at some time or another. But I just have to get this off my chest.
The man I love and whom I spend a good part of my day with doesn’t want to be talked about, wrote about or anything more on “my little blog”.
But maybe a reason would help?
Because he said so.
And so I have to respect his wishes and try really hard not mention him anymore from this post onward. The thing that really chaps my ass is that my blog is very important to me. It’s my hobby, it’s my main source of social activity right now. It is where I form friendships, put my thoughts down, get perpective, get advice and well wishes and just plain chronicle my life. My cat and my fella are daily parts of my life. Everything that happens in my life these days has something to do with him. So how am I going to chronicle my life if I can’t mention him at all?
Perhaps I should start talking about what I ate for lunch (ham sandwhich in a cheese bun). I can’t mention WHO I ate lunch with, but that’s WHAT I ate. Exciting and compelling information, isn’t it? You’ll be so glad you read me.
So now I can’t tell you about my wedding, if that ever happens. I can’t tell you about the birth of my children, if that ever happens. I can’t tell you about vacations, buying houses, roadtrips, boating on the lake. I can only say that “I” am living this life. I might as well be single to you people. I can’t tell you amusing stories about how he slaps my ass when I walk by him, or about how he makes me laugh countless times a day. And I certainly can’t tell you about the racoon fight we witnessed last night in our front yard. I can’t tell you about anything, because apparently the information about him going to watch tv on the couch if he can’t sleep was Too Much Information.
I know you all don’t care what he does when he can’t sleep. It’s not like I told you about a rash he has on his ass, or told you about the time he robbed that bank or told you where he stashes his heroine needles. (Duh, in the gun cabinet.)
I just have a hard time with the fact that the man I love doesn’t encourage me in the things I like to do. He doesn’t support me in what I choose to do. I know he’s not about to get me to ask the InnerNets about whether they think his new moustache is sexy. I know he’s never going to participate every once in a while here. I know that and I’m OK with that. But I still think I was doing an alright job about not giving away his anonymity.
I’m not a skier or a snowboarder. I prefer to sit by a nice toasty fire instead of head up the mountain. But I would NEVER tell the man I love to never have fun in the snow again because I said so. I would never not support him.