The more she thought about it the more she had to admit she was lonely, not in the common sense of the word, she went to work and talked to customers and collegues, but that's what they were, just customers and collegues nothing more than light banter through the day.
Of course she had him, he walked in the door at the end of the day and she felt herself explode at him with everything that those professional relationships left unsaid, her thoughts, her feelings, her heart thrown out in words that barely made sense. They were said with a desperate need to share those parts of herself that she kept for people who were safe, she felt she could see him reeling sometimes as the words came out sounding like machine gun fire, rat a tat a tat a tat.
So she wrote blog post after blog post letting those feeling and thoughts have somewhere else to live, than squarely on his shoulders, ever aware that her big personality could not comfortably be carried by one person, no matter how much he loved her. Comments came and went and they reminded her that sometimes her thoughts were being shared with others and it helped, but it was not the same, and she longed for others to talk to, to share with and to have them share with her, more than the bore of the day or the next thing on the never ending list of items to tick off the to do lists.
She had family and they took some of her, they took the bits that you can normally share with family, and inside she quietly thanked them. Sometimes after a long week she could see the weight of her bearing down upon him, almost visibly feeling heavy with her emotions. But sometimes you can't talk to family about somethings and even if you can the phone is not always the best way to really share and listen.
Because that was the point, as much as the dominant feeling was wanting to share, she also wanted to be shared with, she wanted to give her ear, her shoulder and her brain to others. He was so wonderfully simple in his feelings and as much as that makes a good partner it leaves a hole ... A hole that only a good friend can fill.
She recalls friends from the past, some who moved away, others who's lives took different directions and a small few who had left her, or whom she had left in the midst of some sort of growth, emotional turmoil, or just bad timing. She missed them all sometimes, she missed the warm banter, having people to call on saturdays when she was home alone, she missed good friends, everyday friends, best friends.
It wasn't like she wasn't trying, but getting idle chit chat to turn into less idle chit chat, turn into something resembling friendship was hard. So she kept chatting, and hoping that someday she would find some people who would see her, accept her, maybe even love her in the way friends do.
Then one day some chit chat, turned into going home for tea, she remembered that you need to be brave and courageous in life and never more than when you are showing people who you are and hoping that they accept you. Chit chat, turned into talking, which turned into deep talking, and then friend begat friends and before she knew it, friends they were, good friends, loved friends.
She is not so lonely anymore, she has people to call, people who take some of the weight of her, he mentions that he feels lighter and she quietly thanks them under her breath, and she wonders if they know and know that she is sharing the weight of them as well, she wonders if she should tell them ... But decides to blog about it instead :)
Of course she had him, he walked in the door at the end of the day and she felt herself explode at him with everything that those professional relationships left unsaid, her thoughts, her feelings, her heart thrown out in words that barely made sense. They were said with a desperate need to share those parts of herself that she kept for people who were safe, she felt she could see him reeling sometimes as the words came out sounding like machine gun fire, rat a tat a tat a tat.
So she wrote blog post after blog post letting those feeling and thoughts have somewhere else to live, than squarely on his shoulders, ever aware that her big personality could not comfortably be carried by one person, no matter how much he loved her. Comments came and went and they reminded her that sometimes her thoughts were being shared with others and it helped, but it was not the same, and she longed for others to talk to, to share with and to have them share with her, more than the bore of the day or the next thing on the never ending list of items to tick off the to do lists.
She had family and they took some of her, they took the bits that you can normally share with family, and inside she quietly thanked them. Sometimes after a long week she could see the weight of her bearing down upon him, almost visibly feeling heavy with her emotions. But sometimes you can't talk to family about somethings and even if you can the phone is not always the best way to really share and listen.
Because that was the point, as much as the dominant feeling was wanting to share, she also wanted to be shared with, she wanted to give her ear, her shoulder and her brain to others. He was so wonderfully simple in his feelings and as much as that makes a good partner it leaves a hole ... A hole that only a good friend can fill.
She recalls friends from the past, some who moved away, others who's lives took different directions and a small few who had left her, or whom she had left in the midst of some sort of growth, emotional turmoil, or just bad timing. She missed them all sometimes, she missed the warm banter, having people to call on saturdays when she was home alone, she missed good friends, everyday friends, best friends.
It wasn't like she wasn't trying, but getting idle chit chat to turn into less idle chit chat, turn into something resembling friendship was hard. So she kept chatting, and hoping that someday she would find some people who would see her, accept her, maybe even love her in the way friends do.
Then one day some chit chat, turned into going home for tea, she remembered that you need to be brave and courageous in life and never more than when you are showing people who you are and hoping that they accept you. Chit chat, turned into talking, which turned into deep talking, and then friend begat friends and before she knew it, friends they were, good friends, loved friends.
She is not so lonely anymore, she has people to call, people who take some of the weight of her, he mentions that he feels lighter and she quietly thanks them under her breath, and she wonders if they know and know that she is sharing the weight of them as well, she wonders if she should tell them ... But decides to blog about it instead :)
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6 comments:
Sweetie, this is beautiful.
(Though it made me worry a little about what sort of friend I've been!)
Aww Treen i just reread it and can't get over how many spelling mistakes and sentences that just don't flow quiet right there are, it looked great at 10pm last night. And you know what, the fact that you still think it is beautiful, Dr Treena the most grammatically correct woman i know, in spite of these flaws, just goes to show what a delicious and beautiful friend you are xx
As like everything i write, its not autobiographical, as such ....
I didn't think it was autobiographical, as such. I'd say rather than autobiographical, it struck me as familiar.
I wouldn't worry about grammar, if I were you--not on the blog. Yes, I am a grammar prescriptionista: I find I have to be, in my line of work.
But the thing about the blog is that if you're going to be writing fiction on here, which you've been doing more and more over the last couple of months, then you just need to keep getting it out there.
Worrying about sentence-level concerns can inhibit that initial free-flowing writing response (which, let's face it, is a sheer endorphin rush, when it's working well) unless you've internalised the basic rules through constant attention to them--which, with no grammar classes in Australian high schools, we just don't get the chance to do.
Of course you'll see areas where you think the work could be improved--though as long as you keep writing the stream-of-consciousness, first-person stuff I've been enjoying, you can always have a little more leeway on aspects like sentence structure (at least, compared to my kind of writing!).
But no writing is ever complete--not even when it's done and published. That's where I think we need to think of blogs as works in progress: as good as we can make them in that moment, but not something where we think "This is perfect."
Write.
Publish.
There's nothing to stop you coming back in a month's time and writing "She Was Lonely 2," if the story takes a different shape in your head.
Yeah your right, thanks and your also right about it being familiar ... thats a good way to think of it. Last night I decided to write something a bit happier than the last few things i have written, not uptempo exactly, i just didn't want people crying at the end *grin*
People write because they have something to say that can't always be said out loud -- face to face -- but can be well expressed in a story like this.
Have no doubt this is a story, and with a bit of an edit is eminently publishable.
The views and feeling are universal. The way you have expressed them is what makes this piece interesting, intimate and heartwarming.
Think about writing more.
Thanks Dad, i am writing more and more at the moment, but i am starting to wonder what i should do with them beyond putting them on the blog. Once i have written them it almost like i cant see what needs to be changed, and i know i need to work on my grammar, punctuation and sentence structure.
What do you do with yours?
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