Strange that lately, while things seem to cruise on much the same… we still do fun things… still have our little struggles and little things learned… that I do not feel the same compulsion to share these things with the world. I start to write them down and I look at them and shrug. I used to feel all alone and had this desperate need to tell someone, anyone about this thing that is my life. But now it feels all normal and comfortable and even dull.
I look at it… lately, I have not been such a good girl… not subservient, not all that service oriented… I have been forgetting to do little required niceties like adjusting the seat of my car to fit him when we go places. I slap his hands away when he reaches for me… (like that does any good… it usually just earns me a harder, longer pinch). But then I am the girl he seems to want me to be. Silly, relaxed, playful, funny, talkative… impulsive… creative… snarky, bitchy, lazy… but I think he gets what he wants. If he wanted something different he knows he could force the issue.
There is no question he can force the issue. He knows it and I know it. He can interrupt my chatter and snark with a well timed bark of “Shut UP!!!” and I do (promptly if not gracefully). He can make me move with a quick grab and yank of hair or collar. (Though I am perfecting a pretty good wheeze when the collar pulls against my larynx… just like those little dogs do when they lean against the leash.) All he has to do is order service… Cook! Clean! Suck! Fuck! And he does, but not often… and I do it… sometimes even joyfully… sometimes.
But when it comes time to write in the blog… I find myself struggling to tease a single thread from the pattern, a vignette from the blur of experiences.
I know if I wrote more often… the stories would flow… if I wrote more often then perhaps I would not feel the need to have my words carry some kind of significance or special weight.
I do know I want to keep blogging. And I keep resolving to write more often and then a week will fly by… and then another… it will seem like hardly a day or two… and I will feel guilty and feel that if I do write now, it would need to be pithy, profound and magical… rather than a plea of “but it all seems so normal now…”.