Monthly Archives: January 2011

Best Partners in Crime

He looks thrilled, doesn't he?

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They never said it’d be easy

This is f-ing hard. So hard, in fact, that it deserves the F bomb. I reserve it for special occasions.

 

That is not true. I don’t reserve it for anything, actually, it rolls naturally off the tongue in almost any context.

 

“I have a f-ing splinter.”

“My f-ing credit card bill is due.”

“The f-ing mail is here.”

“Man, that baby is f-ing cute.”

 

I promised I’d tell the truth. So, I’m telling it.

 

This is hard. I can’t decide what is the hardest about this process. Is it the fact that in my brain and my heart, I’ve put a lot on the line to do this? That I’m risking my career and my financial situation and, good Lord, my self-respect? The fact that if I quit, or, worse, if the words just don’t come, then I’ve let everyone down, my family, my husband, myself…the community… Or is it the fact that if the fucking words don’t start coming soon, then I will have been kidding myself this whole time, thinking that I could call myself a writer?

 

Is it the fact that to write this story, I have to relive it? That this, evidently, is my version of therapy, in some ways, that the two years that I plowed ahead, just got through, that now I have to deal with them? Or is that I am terribly afraid of stepping into the land of maudlin and melodrama, that some one, somewhere, might roll their eyes?

 

Is it the fact that every time I sit down to write I cry like I’m 8 years old and my dog just died? And because I FUCKING HATE TO CRY.

 

Or is it the fact that I know that to tell this story, I have to tell hard truths, truths that aren’t pretty or fun to read? That all the things that make me wince, close my eyes and will away are things that I’m going to put on display because, dammit, this story is important and it matters and other people need to read it and see it, even more than I need to tell it.

 

Yeah. I guess that’s why it’s so fucking hard.

 

And yet, I’m still sitting here, hoping at some point it’ll get funnier and easier and, well, frankly, drier.  And that in the end this marathon of an ordeal, one that continues to morph and shift and shape our lives, it’ll all be worth something. That it will be bigger than our family and bigger than our community.

 

I need a f-ing Kleenex.