I try and start the day with good intentions of writing. I am by no means a great writer nor is what I write about great but my routine is that while I have my morning coffee I read other blogs before writing my own. This often affects my interest in writing or rather my ability to write.
While there is always going to be people who struggle, violence and misery in the world I often feel that I have to make an effort to find the good. I understand now why videos of kittens seem to generate a million views. Some of the blogs I read are unpredictable and can leave me feeling infuriated, and some of them are right down depressing. I feel a strange sense to hold on, or rather hold close, my own happiness. This might just be residual Catholic guilt because when your neighbour suffers – you suffer along with him. Often after reading something so intimate I am uncomfortable with leaving a comment; I mean what do you say to something so private and heart wrenching?
I suck at writing those cliché ‘it doesn’t rain all the time’ responses.
I suck at telling people what they want to hear.
However with all of that said I am every impressed and amazed that people tell me anything knowing I very well could disappoint them with a response. My husband has told me things I don’t think he ever intended to tell anyone and told me things he knew could change my opinion of him. It is a very delicate thread to be trusted with someone’s feelings and this morning I wonder if blogs don’t sometimes take away from that fear. When did we become convinced we should talk about anything and everything to perfect strangers – can they truly appreciate what we are saying if they have no idea who we really are?
PC mentioned last night that a woman he has been talking too, long before I came along, has finally made noises with the intention of meeting him. My response was ‘about fucking time’ because I was pretty sure from what he told me he was simply the virtual lube to her and her husband’s fantasy sex. Doesn’t matter if she meets him or not, I will give anyone credit that comes out of the internet world to put flesh on flesh and meet someone even for a coffee but I hope she does. Of course my perverted mind wandered to the idea of him fucking her and I found myself sexually worked up once again. Though I might never witness him fucking her, I know him naked and I have a pretty good imagination.
What is really cool is that he told me about it. Not that I have expected him to change his modus operandi because we have always casually chatted about a lot of things – at least for my part I think we have – but he certainly didn’t have to tell me a thing. It is none of my business. I am pretty sure, knowing him as I do, that he is just as kind and attentive to other women as he is with me. I imagine he talks with them in his usual funny, sexual, relaxed and smart manner; save one night when he came home from the pub and trusted me the most.
I am not sure he would have told just anyone what he was feeling that night and if I didn’t appreciate and know him this truth might have been overlooked and I could have simply replied with ‘That really sucks dude’