Underneath it All
I received an email last week after my confession posts, where a (now former) reader said that by saying I wanted to push Kanye West off a cliff, slap Justin Bieber, and cut Miley Cyrus’ tongue off, I was basically committing cyber bullying.
We had a great back and forth discussion that was extremely civil and I think we both learned a lot. In the end, she chose to no longer be a reader, and in the end, I remain committed to the idea that anyone who has a) read my blog for any length of time would know I was just being sarcastic b) no child on earth should be reading my blog and c) I have to stay true to myself. The rest of this post was just inspired by the exchange, but in no way am I disparaging the woman who took the time to email me. She was standing up for what she felt was right, and I have to respect that.
In one of the email exchanges, she indicated disbelief that I would use aggressive language like that in real life, or if given the chance if I would say those things to the people’s faces.
Here’s the thing, I would.
Well, I would only say it to Kanye if there were armed guards around. I’ve seen what he has been doing to photographers lately!
Over the years, I’ve gotten a few such emails as the one I described above. I’m lucky in that they’ve all been super civil, never cruel, but all basically saying the same thing “you need to consider the (fill in the blank) population when you are writing”.
Let me tell you what. If you ask anyone who really knows me in real life, my writing is exactly how I talk. Most of the time, really stupid shit comes out of my mouth, but all my true friends know that when something dumb comes out, it is meant to a) be funny b) fill in the dead air when something sad has happened and I have NO idea what to say.
So, to accuse me of presenting a false version of who I am, well that is just beetle headed. And I’d say that to your face if we were in real life.
In real life, I am a really weird and complicated person. In real life, I would do anything to put a smile on your face when you are stressed out or sad. In real life, the shit that comes out of my mouth is just as dumb as the shit you read here.
In my real life, I almost never see my husband. In real life, my only choice is to allow this bullshit lifestyle we live to continue on, or know that he is fucking miserable at a normal job for the rest of his life. When faced with that situation, I don’t have any good choices, so I chose the one that causes me to die inside a little each day because my life isn’t anything like I thought it would be.
As a result, the one constant my son has in his life is me. It is me who wakes him up, feeds him, bathes him, and puts him to bed EVERY NIGHT. I don’t get to go to the gym, or go out with friends, join a book club, or do anything that requires me to attend regularly like a weeknight church group etc. I’m out of choices in that regard.
The ONE fucking choice it seems like I have left is to write what the fuck I what, when I fucking want to.
Just like you have the choice to read it or not. I’m not in any way saying that you can’t email me and tell me that something I said didn’t sit well with you, but just understand that before you hit send, I’m going to link you back to this post. It’s not that I don’t want to engage with you and email back and forth, it’s just that if I were to write how you seem to want me to write, I’d be presenting a false version of me.
In my three years of writing, what I’ve found is that no one (really) wants to read a blog by someone who acts perfect, seems to never have mini breakdowns, or they can’t relate to. There are plenty of blogs out there for you to read if you’d like any of the above, but let me tell you – they’re written by fucking liars.
As humans, we’re complicated as hell. I don’t doubt that at some point something I will say will get stuck in your craw, It’s gonna happen, so just know in advance that I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I’m not a robot. I make mistakes and stuff like that. We all do.
I have absolutely no idea what this post is actually about. It’s a brain dump. Written diarrhea. Just trying to get everything out that is floating around in my head and keeping me from sleeping. Who the hell knows.
I’m going to sleep now.