Blog and Me Fight The Good Fight

Blog stares at me in really judgmental ways. 

Blog whispers to its friends and it sounds something like this: she says she's a teller and a writer but look at her! She types emails and what else? Nothing! That's what. NOTHING!

I stare at Blog with an equally disrespectful glare. I snarl my pissiness when I think Blog isn't looking and I say something like this: The fuck? Such a bitch, so needy...

Blog hears me and so, we wrestle. 

Not like really wrestle, since Blog has very very short arms (almost none really). So we go at it the way most people do, over a six pack and some smokes. Blog sputters and chokes on a drag and I call Blog a loser and Blog stubs the butt out and says something about the pot and the kettle and though I want to kick Blog's teeth in: I don't. Though I wish to drown Blog in the toilet, what with the no arms (and actually no legs either): I don't. 

We are at an impasse and I think I have fallen out of love with Blog.

Blog shakes its head, a woeful, sad kind of shake. Blog spits a peanut shell on the ground and says what do you want from me? and I say, ohmygod, wait, what? 

Crap. Blog has feelings. Blog feels bad. Blog says these really kinda nice things about being here JUST FOR ME and -- well? well, I feel all kinds of guilty and all kinds of bitchy right then and Blog takes my hands, grips them each, looks me straight in my eyeballs, and lays the final blow.

Blog says: I am nothing without you.

I take a swig. I kick the peanut shell with my foot. I kick it again, because that seems easier than looking at Blog, poor sad Blog, and I contemplate just climbing out the window in the bathroom and disappearing into the foggy, humid sorta spring night. 

I am fight or flight all the time. When it went from 9 to 10cms with each kid, I was looking at exits, scoping a way out.  I honestly thought I could ram through the fire door and run through the parking lot in my hospital mumu and book down the blocks and run and run and run and leave all the pain behind. 

I kick the peanut shell one last time. I kick the shit out of the shell and send it flying through the space. 

There are some things you can't ever run away from: the baby being born, the baby growing up, you growing up, and whatever else in life you are meant to do.  Sometimes it's easy and if you're lucky, everything (literally) slides into place. Sometimes the things you cannot run away from nag like a fly at your ear, a buzzing you can't drown out and which distracts you. It's annoying and you can hate it, but the buzz is the hint to your very own secret path to happiness. 

Blog, I say, and I look straight at Blog, right at it, and I say, Blog, we can do this.