There is a ton of stuff going on in my life right now, but I haven't really felt like writing about much of it. You see, I have a fear...and it has to do with my face.
Let me back up. After the first time I took my spousal unit home to stay with my parents, she didn't immediately get our family dynamic. A couple of visits later, there was a night where she looked at me and said "you know, I think I have your family figured out...you express your love for each other by picking on each other." It's true...maybe it's the British in us, but sarcasm is a requirement if you want to survive.
Back here in the great white North, I have plenty of friends, people who love me. They too express their love (or at least a slightly lowered level of disdain) for me by picking on me. While they might do this with each other to a certain extent, I'm pretty sure I get picked on more than the rest. With my family, I could understand the picking as a result of cultural heritage, but save a few far flung friends, Britishness does not run in my circles. So why the biting interaction even emanating from those who, I'm pretty sure, seem to like me for some reason? I can only assume I have one of those faces that says "hey, put me down."
Couple this with my own natural tendency to focus on the elements of my life where foibles exist, where things go less according to plan and instead actively work against me to some degree (which some people, incidentally, interpret as whining), and the level of verbal warfare can become significant. And yes, as I've had this particular style of interaction for all my life, I'm generally used to being slammed, to being put down, to being burned. I can generally tell that it comes from love rather than hate. But there are exceptions, moments where I take things to heart more than I should. Particularly as I get older, as I experience loss and uncertainty more frequently, and I sometimes become hyper-aware of perception.
Particularly lately, I've been holding a lot of stuff in. Part of it is knowing, compared to many of my friends, my lot in life isn't really that bad. Part of it is having so many undeniably good things going on in my life (a beautiful spousal unit, a forthcoming package o' joy, an utterly kick-ass band), dwelling on the negatives I honestly feel might make me come off as at best a bigger whiner than anyone already suspects or at worst an ungrateful bastard...either of which might open me up to more verbal abuse than I can stand.
But if I can't talk about these things, they fester. If I hold in the shadows, it becomes darkness. If I can't write about my own life, my own feelings, my own fears, what am I doing?
I will be posting here more frequently. While I will try to have some kind of balance, at heart, it's really healthier for me to be honest, to work through some issues. And if it ever seems at any moment that I'm turning into one of those tremendously blessed people whining about my first world problems, please realize that I too am aware of my tone...and that I am also working on posts about happy stuff (like dancing baby sloths).
Be patient with me.
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