Day Sixty: I Am Not My Blog

I can't believe that I'm saying this, but the afterglow is gone.

Of course it has to do with a phone call. (I hate the phone--don't you?) It had been nearly a week since I spoke to my Dad or my sisters, and I was more than aware of the time that had passed. They have been a major source of anxiety for me. I am not treated like an adult--or, more appropriately, the nearly middle aged mother of two that I am. The condescension is unbearable. But today my sister called me and used her maternal soft voice, the one that she probably uses with her kids and the one that she should not use with me. She apparently has been reading my blog. When she made references to certain blog entries, I spat out angry words and breathed impatiently into the receiver. I wanted to get off the phone and throw it like a discus into the next yard. I wanted to put a bag over my head and yell bloody murder. I wanted to go for a long run and not come home until the soles of my sneakers were completely bald.

It was not a good conversation.

She was essentially making me relive every bad feeling I've had the past sixty days. And where's the progress in that? It's okay to leave a comment on my blog, where I can see it when I'm ready to see it and not when I'm living my normal (or "normal") life. But to talk to me about it? Why would I want to go backwards?

So now I've been thinking of other people that have read my blog. And I have this need to address anyone who actually knows me, as in the flesh and blood, as in we see each other on a somewhat regular basis. To those people I say this: you can read my blog, but don't expect me to want to talk to you about it. You are privy to the inner machinations of my grief, but you are not required to respond in kind. Leave my writing where it is, on this blog and no place else. Because that's exactly what I do.

I welcome your comments here. PLEASE leave you comments here! I [heart] comments. But I am not my blog. I am a nearly middle aged mother of two who has errands to run and a life to live. Don't hamper my progress by making me talk about it out of context. It only exists here.