Everything

For months, my writing here has been stilted. I know it, and it's frustrating me. My entries are inconsistent, and they have become harder and harder for me to write.

I have been blaming it on time. I started a new* job, and since then, I haven't had the "downtime" at work to draft and edit and hone entries like I used to. I'm also busier after work than I used to be. I'm spending lots of time out, writing other things, working on comedy, singing.

But over the weekend, I went back and read a bunch of my archives.

I was shocked.

I had forgotten.

When I first started writing this blog, it was hard. I had trouble finding my voice. Everything was over-edited. I worked hard to make entries seem…oh, I don't even know. They weren't exactly me.

Then I discovered Crazy Aunt Purl and I realized I could, in fact, just be me. Just write like me. Ooh, and maybe not just could, but should.

And you know, when I did that? It became fun. It was easy. It was honest. It really was just me. I was thrilled to have finally – finally! – found an outlet for my running narrative. (You know, the narrative that's been dictating "my book" since I decided I wanted to be an author at the age of 9.)

I found a rhythm.

But a few months ago, it changed. I got tripped up. I lost my footing, and not just because I lost time.

And again, it's Purl who (inadvertently) helped me to realize it.

I don't know if you've been keeping up with her true, hard, great, brave, personal plight, but I have. And over the weekend it hit me like a ton of bricks just why exactly I keep up with her, why I always want to read her:

Because she keeps on telling The Truth. It's gotten harder and sadder and real-er, but she keeps on telling it anyway.

And I?

Well, it's not like I've been lying. It's just that I...

I didn't take you with me.

My life changed and instead of feeling free to talk about it, I stopped telling The Truth. I thought you wouldn't notice the difference. I thought I wouldn't notice the difference.

Turns out? Not writing a word about the man I started dating months ago makes all the difference in the world.

God, there has been so much to tell. Good stuff, funny stuff, hard stuff. But -- because, as I wrote a long time ago, it's so personal and so scary and it's NOT just about me and my life but also about him and his life -- I didn't. I pulled back. I decided I wouldn't talk about my relationship with The Comic because for about a hundred reasons. Like fear, for one.

But then once I stopped writing freely about What Is Really Going On In My Life, once I put the brakes on, once I started making huge concessions about what I Could and Could Not Write, everything changed. I became my own worst censor.

And it got hard again. It became uncomfortable again. My own blog became something that wasn't exactly me. Again.

And I miss it.

So I don't know how this will work now, exactly. But I'd like to find out. I'm going to try and take the gloves off, tear the walls down, and turn the filters off. It probably won't happen overnight, but it's gotta start somewhere.

I'm looking forward to introducing you to Ish.



*Seven months ago now. Can you believe it?