"A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." -- Thomas Mann

Ain't that the truth. I'm constantly second guessing what I'm writing, as if I'm not sure I'm ok with that much honesty (sexuality, mundane behavior, description, etc.). Most days I read the blog six or seven times before I post it, editing and making sure I'm being as clear as I want without displaying too much openness. I can be very obsessive compulsive, I tend to want everything to be perfect.

That's why I'm so frustrated lately. Things between him and I are far less than perfect. We're both feeling the stress and acting hypersensitivity, which means we're quick to snap and slow to forgive. I keep breathing in and telling myself that this will all be over with soon. And I question myself. I second guess. I wonder why I say the things I do, what reaction I'm hoping to elicit. There must be some payoff, or I wouldn't continue acting this way. I suppose the payoff is still attention, positive or negative, something that I felt I've been lacking lately. I slipped back into old abusive patterns far too quickly for even me to realize what was going on. This disturbs me, to say the least.

So here I sit. Afraid to even talk to him, afraid of what will come out of my mouth. Don't get me wrong, this miscommunication is mutual. But, for my part, I'm feeling rather sheepish at how I've behaved up to this point. I sat by the phone last night, needing him to tell me he wanted me at the hospital. But I couldn't admit that. Instead, I acted tough. I told him he should find someone else to take him. We made it through that, but my stubbornness is so infuriating.

So I sit here. I should be talking to him before bed. But I'm not. I'm afraid to. I'm going to do some Yoga/Pilates, think and rethink about my behavior and call it a night. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

This entry was posted by Mellie, on Monday, June 06, 2005.