Writing is nothing like marriage. Take writer's block. Writer's block hits different people different ways. Me, I rarely get it at all unless I'm chased by a deadline and don't even have a concept. Then I freeze, like in a bad 70's horror movie: my fingers fumble over keys while my mind searches for a gear.
What am I gonna write?
I don't know. Write something!
What if I write a page of nothing. Is that something?
Is somebody going to read a page of nothing?
Sure—No—Why not? Hey, and even if they don't, they know they can come back tomorrow I'll have lot's of something to show them.
Why return? You've offered them nothing? Would you read somebody else's notebook filled with "I don't know what to write so I'm just going to fill a page with…" Hell, why not write a letter to your parents too. You know the kind "Dear folks, how are you, I am fine. Love, Rob." That's inspiring.
You know, I don't have to take this from my subconscious.
This continues for half an hour or so, until my subconscious calls me a word I don't understand. While I'm looking it up, he leaves in disgust. Yep. That's my head. And that's how Writer's block works: It creates a void, then fills it with distraction.
Marriage doesn't do that. Marriage leaves the void empty until somebody fills it with something. And not "nothing-something." That doesn't work. It has to be real, sincere, substantial. Otherwise, the void spirals into a vacuum, sucking up everything, leaving nothing but nothing.
See, that's where we are now. I keep thinking "What if I..?" but there isn't anything. This was her choice, this is her doing. Yet, I'm a doer. Cuz yeah, even in writer's block, I'm writing SOMETHING. Now, I want to do something, but there isn't anything I can do.
I apologized once. Not for the real thing I don't know about, but for the fake thing I do. The thing that was nothing, the thing this can't be all about, but the thing she wants to have me amputated for. Did you know that in the old days, they had to use a hand saw to cut through bone? If it wasn't sharpened properly, it could take over an hour to cut off a major appendage. Think about that, in the days before the anesthesiologist. "Yeah, I'll take the bullet to the head for "$1000, Alex."
But that's what I'm going through: a slow amputation, and that's not even my point, just a passing distraction into the void.
No, I apologized. It was Thanksgiving. How appropriate is that? I was watching the parade on TV as she got ready. We were going to my parents house. This flash went through my brain where it said, "you know what, I was wrong here. I didn't do anything, but I can see where she could feel slighted. I need to apologize." So I did.
"I'm sorry."
"How nice." Yeah, that's her translation for "faux cue." Work it out. This is a family blog; I'll refrain from certain words.
"No, really. I was wrong and I should have thought about you."
Her fist clenched as she clutched her sunglasses. She loves those sunglasses, I paid $300 for them as a gift. And yeah, I admit it. The first thought that crossed my mind was Please don't crush those.
"How nice."
"ok."
That was my apology. My experience with the olive branch and the dove of peace. See in writing if you write something and it doesn't work, you can erase it and try again from another angle. In my marriage, you can't Anything you say can and will be used against you. She didn't believe I was sorry. Or she didn't care. She skinned my dove, stuffed it with olive leaves, dropped in on the rotisserie, and ate it in thangsgiving.
See, unlike the written word, marital communication is just as dependant on the receiver as it is the sender. If something gets garbled or sucked into the void, it's lost. No matter what you say, no matter how you say it. You could utter the most inspired sonnet, if your reciver doesn't want to hear it, you've said nothing. And that's what our communication is filled with right now. White noise and silence. Maybe I should stick to writing and leave marriage to the professionals.
Back into the void I go.
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