Warning: This Is Long And Sappy

I’ve been spending a lot of time blogging. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been pretty obsessed with it. I hit next blog and read for an hour or so. It’s pretty excessive, I just like to. I guess it’s sort of like watching soap operas.

The side bar has the list of blogs I read daily. I love those blogs. I put them there because for some reason, when I hit next blog, the post I read happened to strike a chord. Maybe someone happened to be writing about something I’m familiar with or maybe they made me laugh or intrigued me in some way. It’s so weird to me that I have some sort of connection to these people. Maybe it’s not a very deep connection but I’m actually interacting with some people on a daily basis albeit it’s through comments, which is sometimes one sided, but it’s still as if I know everyone who comes to read my blog.

I find this fascinating. I log onto the computer and I’m wondering what Cat or Lass might be doing today. I wonder what Queen is going to rant about in her usual witty way. I wonder if anyone has left me a comment and I am usually pleasantly surprised someone has. I think it’s almost therapeutic in a way. When I’m having a bad day I check my email and someone has left me a friendly comment whether it’s a paragraph long or two words just to let me know they’ve been there and read what I had to say. Even the most mundane and banal posts get comments.

Of course, I don’t know anyone all that well. I only get tiny little glimpses of your lives in the form of a few written paragraphs, but what I do know I like and admire and most of the time I can relate to you. And I know you all don’t write about everything because even I don’t write about everything. I wish I was more candid, but I’m afraid of rejection, I suppose. I notice that I censor myself a lot more now than I did when I first began this blog. I think I have a fear of offending someone with something and them not coming back to read my stuff. I know, how stupid. But seriously, I almost didn’t post about hating people who drive and talk on their cell phones because most everyone does it. I didn’t want anyone to get mad. I’ll admit I’m a tad insecure.

I also don’t write about my boobs as much anymore. I still want a boob job, but you hotties with large breasts disapprove of this desire. I try not to bore you with my wants because it makes me seem shallow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely shallow. I’ll admit it. I like pretty things. Necklaces from Tiffany’s, a nice set of boobs, clothes that are too expensive for me to buy, a gorgeous boyfriend. I love all of these things.

I don’t write about times when Brian and I aren’t getting along, because I want everyone to believe I live this perfect life. Which I don’t because no one does and I think both Brian and I are high maintenance, which can make life difficult at times, but for some reason we always get through that. I don’t ever want to write something that makes it seem contrary to that. And yet there are times we have been in horrible fights. So horrible that I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to recover. Fights that I wish could be erased from our lives, but they can’t and there’s no way to take things back. And I honestly believe my world would fall apart if we weren’t together. I hate to admit that I need him that much, but I do.

One time I was going to write about that three letter phrase, the scary one that can make people either run for their lives or make them the happiest person in the world. You know what I’m talking about—I love you. These words aren’t said a lot in our house, between the two of us. But, for some reason, with him, I don’t need to hear him say these words to me, because I know he loves me. I feel he loves me. When he does say it, my heart melts and I smile and I know with all my being he means it, because it’s not thrown around ten times a day. It’s not even thrown around ten times a year and this doesn’t upset me. I never think “I wish he would tell me he loves me”. I have been in relationships where I thought I needed the other person to constantly tell me they love me, because it made me feel better. I’ve also been in relationships where if I heard the phrase one more time I might puke. Brian tells me the perfect number of times and it’s always special. I don’t think that I tell him as much as I should; I just assume he feels the same way about it. Maybe I shouldn’t assume that. Maybe he does need to hear it. I do love him more than I have ever loved anyone. In fact, I am madly in love with him. I don’t know that I have ever truly been in love before. I have never looked at someone like I do him. I hardly ever see his flaws I just see his perfections. I don’t even know if that’s healthy.

Alright, this post is so long most of you probably didn’t even finish it. That’s alright; this is my grand finale post. For the year that is. This is as candid as it’s going to get for probably quite awhile. I’m just in that sort of mood. If I don’t get a chance to write much in the next couple of days I hope everyone has a fabulous Christmas.