Baby Steps to The Spew. Baby steps to The Spew.

Hi, guys.

Can we just start there?

I’ve missed you fuh real.

You know when you miss someone and you want to call them and you have so much to say but are just not sure when you will have the time/energy to have the phone (or e-mail) conversation you really want to have with them so you put it off, thinking you’ll wait until you have the time to really talk, but that time doesn’t come and now more and more has happened so the phone call feels even harder and, worse, you feel further away from your friend because so much has happened (for her too, you’re sure) and you don’t know how you’ll possibly jump into the initial conversation you wanted to have with her, let alone cover all the new ground, and it’s all feeling a little overwhelming because this friend is really important to you and it breaks your heart to think that she might be feeling otherwise.

You know how that sometimes happens?

Well, you guys---I’m a fuck. Sorry I haven’t called.

I’ve felt such unease about this and for so many reasons. First of all, I miss you. I miss us. We had this great thing, you and I.

C’mon, boo, look at me.

Ain’t nobody got eyes pretty as yours, baby.

(Cue Boys II Men).

(99% of my 1994 make-out sessions went down while this song was playing.)

I'm really not trying to change the subject.

I have so much I want to tell you

Except I can’t. Not in one breath.

This is all feeling very frightening all of a sudden.

I told myself that I would unpack it in parts. See, there’s this thing that happens when I’m having a hard time--my defenses go down and in walks anxiety like the bitch never stopped owning me. There have been moments---weeks, months even---when I was sure I had her beat, but she smells my weakness and shows up just in time to judge me for crumbling. And she always kicks me square in the writer. The more time and energy I’ve spent with a piece, the harder she kicks me. She shows up right at the end----right after I’ve gotten in all down, right in that moment where the tiniest bit of satisfaction could be---and chastises me for every word I’ve written. Try hitting “publish” after that. The bitch owns me, you see?

It’s not always like this (or this blog would never have been born), but it's definitely the story of now. So rather than trying to fight through it, I’m going to try to accept my limitations and work with it because I want to hang out with you guys. I’m thinking if I start small rather than trying to say it all at once, well then maybe I can get this written and posted and then be out of the room before anxiety shows up.

Be straight with me---do I sound a little unstable right now?

I do, right?

A smidge?

No, it’s cool. I am unstable.

But, c’mon, this is the shit that makes heroin addicts---I can live with unstable.

What I can’t live with---and what today’s baby step blog entry will be about---is that I pulled such a no-show here. Well, I can’t live with it anymore. I needed a minute and I know you got it, but at some point it became about me putting off that phone call and you were getting further away. But because you guys are wicked awesome, you started checking in and gently nudging me back here. One of you even wrote, “Not for me to say it’s time," which is a statement of such tenderness and compassion and respect---something you all have shown me so much of---that it made so clear to me that it was for you to say it was time and thank gawd you did. And then yesterday I read a wonderful piece written by friend Amy about how “your blog will change your life” and I realized how much it really has. Which is to say, how much all of you have changed my life. You have. Fuh real. (You still are.) Because you guys were there, I wrote my way through my parents’ deaths---it’s a gift you gave me. Your support and love kept me writing and now I have an account of this time. You are all a part of this story. You were in the hospital room with me as I sat at the foot of my mom’s hospital bed while she slept . You were there for the last cup of coffee I had with my dad.

These aren’t small moments and I’m so grateful for you for being there then and being here now. That’s why it was time for me to show up again. I don't know where I'm going or what the timeline will be----and I gotta get outta here before I start overthinking it---but I hope you guys will be there.

Baby steps to The Spew. Baby steps to the publish button.

Love all y’all.