Day 162: What I Think When I Write About You

I think very, very hard before I write about someone in this blog. Before I name names or blab about what Boyfriend did last Wednesday. Because, as you might understand, I actually have to LIVE with these people.

These aren't random strangers who pop out of nowhere and provide funny material for me to use. These are people I love who have feelings and who have to walk around knowing that the Internet knows about that thing on their face or how their feet smell.

These are the hazards of loving a writer. And these are the hazards of being one.

There are certain people I won't write about. I am, for example, terrified to write about my father. Even though his over-grim demeanor, aversion to uncertainty and ghastly toenails would provide pages of hilarity.

I'm just not there yet.

(Because he's still alive.)

I can write about my mother more easily. I don't know if this is because she rarely reads my blog or that she's more open to it than Pop. But I feel bad poking fun at her because she's also the type who takes it to heart. The mole hair thing comes up in conversation every second week. I don't know how much more she could take.

Drea I rarely worry about, but that's mostly because it's almost impossible to say something bad about someone that thoroughly good. Damn her. Other friends and family I deal with on a case by case basis, knowing I should mostly err on the side of shutting the hell up.

Boyfriend is a tough one, partly because I literally have to live with him and partly because I respect the man's intense need for privacy. The other side of that coin is his refusal to censor me or limit my expression in any way. He lets me be me on the page and in the world and suffers the consequences of that more than he'd like, I'm sure.

I've come to the conclusion with myself that I write out of love. I write about people from a loving place, even if it does involve fever dreams or mole hairs, and that's the best I can do. I can't NOT write and I can't NOT write about people because THIS is my style. I've not been called to write obituaries or Harlequin romance. My task is to use my experiences to entertain and, perhaps, enlighten. To speak the truth as I see it and try to make life feel a little bit lighter. So, be ye warned all those who cross my path. But be ye flattered, too.