Sunday, March 09, 2008, 7:44 PM
I am not a prolific blogger. Some writers are. I don't know if this is a detriment or a normal occurrence because I'm a personal life blogger who leads a boring life, who tends to write about subjects that affect me personally. I'm not into cultural events, politics, exhibitionism or kinky sex. (Although I would totally vote for Obama.)
A lot of great blog-worthy ideas occur to me in the shower, while I'm walking to work, or while I dream. Any ole time I'm separated from my keyboard, basically. And what the hell's that about?
Fear of failure.
Of feeling too much.
I'm good at avoiding painful things. Stories, movies, lives. I've never seen The Titanic, The Passion of the Christ, or anything related to 9/11. I haven't delved much into the painful past of my relatives. It hurts and scares me to think much about it. Life is hard and painful enough; I know what happens. Why relive it?
I was afraid (am still) that I am most like my Uncle Dave, who up and left the family without a trace years ago. He left no note, and there was no advance warning that something was wrong. He was just gone. I was a kid, probably no more than nine, but even back then it felt like Uncle Dave had committed suicide.
I am heartbroken I did not get to know my Uncle Dave. Which is crazy and illogical because he scared the hell out of me as a child. He never smiled much and when he did, it looked forced, like a sneer almost. His eyes were dark and I could see they held anger, although I didn't know what he could be so angry about. But today, that just makes me want to befriend him all the more. I feel such a loss. I wish I could go back in time and do everything over again. Some moments are worth more.
But I'm grateful he was married to someone like Rae, a woman who seemed to draw the sunshine to herself and those around her. Just the sound of her laugh made me want to laugh. But she wasn't enough for Uncle Dave. I guess no one was.