“Writers are cannibals. They really are. They are predators, and if you are friends with them, and if you say anything funny at dinner, or if anything good happens to you, you are in big trouble.”
― Nora Ephron
Morning Peeps,
This is from last year but it’s something that happens on a regular basis and it makes me howl with laugher…on the inside…while I dictate notes into my phone.
Carry on,
xox
“I never said most of the things I said.”
-Yogi Berra
Having written this blog pretty much every day for almost three four years now, an interesting phenomenon has started to show up in casual conversation with family and friends.
I’m being quoted back to myself.
“You know that thing you wrote Tuesday about the forgiveness?” Then they recite it back to me—verbatim.
I just nod, because sadly, my memory has taken a menopause vacation. These days I can barely remember to wear pants.
Other times it isn’t even remotely something I wrote. It has the innate wisdom of a Rumi quote or something Oprah said—same thing.
Anyhow, it still boggles my mind that anyone reads this blog, let alone remembers what I wrote—and I feel immense unending gratitude for all of you.
So there’s that.
Here’s the other thing that takes me aback every time it happens—which is actually growing in frequency.
“This is off the record—I don’t want to see this in the blog”, my friends will whisper to me with pleading eyes.
Even in the car.
Like I’m wearing a wire!
Like I’m a fucking investigative reporter doing important journalistic work for The Huffington Post, The Washington Post or something. Like I’m going to publish an essay about their shitty boss, how much they hate their boobs or describe what their husband’s sex face looks like. And funnier still, that their boss, boobs, or husband would ever get wind of it.
It’s all I can do not to snort laugh when that happens.
The funny part is that when I do mention a “friend” in the blog—everyone thinks it’s them.
“That was cool, that thing you wrote about me yesterday” they’ll chirp with pride, and I don’t have the heart to tell them that most of the friends I mention are compilations, you know, to keep me from getting my ass kicked in line at Joan’s.
So here’s the official disclaimer: If I say “a girlfriend”— it’s not you. Even if I mention your name—it’s probably not you.
Truth be told, the person I out the most—is myself. I gave myself permission to do that—to tell the uncensored truth in the very beginning because what’s the use of writing a blog about your life when you don’t disclose anything intimate about yourself? Besides, the real rewards for doing that have been enormous personal insights on my part—and this response from readers: ‘I’m so glad you wrote about that—I thought it was just me.’
Well, it’s not just you Sheila, I fart in Yoga class too.
Like I said, uncensored.
The second person who has endured being fodder for the blog is my hubby who seems to take it all in stride. It’s like he’s reading about a fictional character called “husband”. He’ll even refer to himself in the third person “I felt bad for her husband today”, he’ll remark after reading the blog.
Other days he’ll walk into the room with tears in his eyes.
That guts me every time.
Here he is, living my life with me—day in and day out—yet, even after all these years of late night pillow talks, patio talks and kitchen talks (If you haven’t guessed, I’m a talker), he’s surprised to read how I felt about something he did or said.
Or the backstage antics of the three ring circus that is disguised as my life.
“I had no idea all that was happening,” he’ll say, marveling at the fact that I can recount all the actual dialogue. “How in the hell do you DO that?”
I just smile.
Then he envelopes me in one of those big bear hugs that I love so much.
And I worry…Shit, I hope he can’t feel the wire.
Be cool you guys, have a great weekend and carry on,
xox
