You know, when people start calling you funny, the pressure can really begin to mount.
I've talked about this before. I've never thought of myself as funny and I never intended to be funny when I started to blog.
Whenever I meet bloggers, they always ask me the same question: Why did you start to blog?
I'm sure the reasons to blog are as complex as the people who write them, but I think I can sum up why I started blogging in just one word.
But somewhere along the way, people start to flatter you. And as they flatter, you start to write to their expectations. Or try to, at least.
And suddenly a post about how very lonely you feel, starts to feel inappropriate.
As far as blogging goes, I've succeeded. And that's the truth. I have made amazing connections. I've made friends with wonderful people. Amazing people. The best people. And some of these people are family to me now. They care about me. A lot. And they let me know it.
So I am starting to think things like I can't blog about how fucking lonely I am, because I'll make people feel bad for me.
But I really think that it was that kind of honest blogging that helped me make these special connections in the first place.
So here is the honesty.
Tonight I was sitting in a chair, watching something stupid on the TV, crying and thinking about how desperately I need someone to touch me. I need to be held by someone who loves me. I want my husband back. Now.
I can talk with him on the phone until we're poor. I can write him a thousand e-mails. I can send him gifts and write him letters.
But there is nothing in this world that can take the place of being held by the man who loves me.
And I'm sorry that you have to read that. It isn't the stoic facade that I want to portray. It isn't the inner strength that I have in abundance. It isn't the knowledge of love that keeps me going.
But it is me.
And it is all I have to offer right now.