Do you see what I see?

Photo not by me.

So, I’m sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Portsmouth (NH for you 02871ers) right now...it’s 4:15, just dark. This town is the picture of New England Christmas and from my seat by the window, not only is there a view of the huge pine tree all lit up at the town center (star at the top and all), but what I’m observing of the passersby can only be characterized as “ holiday hustle and bustle.” Lots of scarves, lots of shopping bags slung over shoulders, giant wreaths with large white bulbs woven through their greenery hanging on lampposts. In the stream of headlights moving down this main strip, I can see the snow flurries that have been falling all day. (Does the fact that I can see the window of my therapist’s office, the lamplight indicating she’s still there, take away from the Rockwellian picture I’ve painted? For the record, I’m not spying, this is just my favorite coffee spot. I started coming here long before I realized that was her office window...too long, in fact. How did I not notice that earlier? Anyway, don’t put it past me to do something like spy on my therapist, I just happen not to be doing it now...though I do keep glancing up. Should I call her and ask her to wave to me?)

Nobody’s more surprised than me to see that I’m writing again so soon but (because apparently I’m so sensitive right now that even the wind makes me cry) my heart was just so swollen with love from the outpouring (I hate the word outpouring, I’ve decided) of support that came after yesterday’s post, that I had to write. Holy shit, you guys. I thought I was done thanking you mo fos.

I’m trying not to get overly mushed up here, mostly because I don’t want to cry in this coffee shop again, but there has been no more gratifying experience since starting this blog, than yesterday. It could be the most gratifying of my writing “career.” (Though the letter from Penthouse Forum rejecting my story for its “extreme racism” and because they “don’t publish stories about yaks, weirdo” still ranks.) Between the comments on the blog, Facebook, and the ones that came in with the Owl Post especially, I was just really overwhelmed with emotion and (yes, here it is again) gratitude.

Thanks for such a warm and enthusiastic welcome back. Thanks for saying such nice things not just about my mom and family but about my writing. Jeez, you guys really made me see just how lucky you are to have me! (I kid...too much?) Anyway, I can’t remember why we even broke up in the first place. Oh yeah...well, you made even that better for a minute anyway. Thank you.

There was a time when I thought I would never share any of my writing with anyone I knew. I was much more comfortable with the idea of strangers reading my stuff, much more comfortable with strangers “knowing” me. I had such anguish over what people would think if they really knew me (and that I do things like stare up at my therapist’s window...no, seriously, it’s just a crazy coincidence that her window sits directly across from my favorite table). I feared what I perceived would be a bad reaction so much that I didn’t show anybody anything (and barely wrote for that matter) for a long time.

But, "Holy Dumbass, Batman" on me! It has been so rewarding to be received by all of you as I have and it’s actually provided the support and self-esteem to keep me going. (You haven’t bested me yet Penthouse!)

(And, by the way, for a long time I thought I knew every single person who ever read this thing...um, wrong. At my mom’s wake, a second grade teacher from my elementary school who I haven’t seen in years---who wasn’t even my teacher---told me she reads The Spew...And then she asked her friend, who also taught at my elementary school ---and who was the first teacher to ever scold me for talking; she kept me in for recess---if I was one of her students, which I wasn’t. I’ll save for another blog a description of the exact strangeness and loveliness of seeing these women in addition to my kindergarten teacher moving through the line at my mother’s wake.) (And, by the way, some people on this things are straight-up strangers. How ‘bout them apples?)

I digress (‘cuz that’s what I do), but the point was that I was just really so touched by your responses yesterday and even if you’re just acting the supportive parent to your scribbling eight-year-old, I am grateful. So, again (and for the last time of 2010...maybe), thank you and thank you and thank you.

Now, I shop...

(The light just went out in my therapist’s office...I need to catch her at the door if I plan to keep up all night.)