You missed it.
I deleted a post. Yup, it’s gone. It went down a little like this:
I was sitting in our nubby red chair, the backs of my knees stuck together like pre-packaged slices of cheese, a halo of frizzy hair framed my face, and every inch between was unbearably gummy from the day’s humidity. I was bored, the kind of bored you can only be when it’s hot or you’re broke. I looked out the window at the trees in our yard, the leaves rustled and the skin on my arms prickled in anticipation of the breeze, when it did not come I sighed. My ponytail caught on my shoulder and I shifted to minimize the touching of different body parts against each other, the chair and the stagnant air.
Sean sat at the computer in the other room, the only light came from the monitor, anything to combat the heat. He was surfing real estate and I envied him his diversion. I watched his arm move the mouse and then the screen changed, the room suddenly became brighter as the page moved from images of Adirondack camps to my blog. He sat taller and I watched him, anxious for his response, anticipating laughter. Like the breeze, it never came.
“Do you like it?” I asked with all the eagerness of a child after the first school play.
His shoulders slumped.
“What? Did you like it?”
“Aw, man. You’ve written this post like six times already,” this said with a mixture of defeat and annoyance.
“No, I haven’t.” I was up in my chair, defiant.
He sat shaking his head.
“It’s not the same, it’s a joke,” I spat.
He sat and then nodded, “Oh, I see. It is.”
“Never mind. I’ll take it down.” And I did.
A tense back and forth followed, he argued that I hadn’t been confident if I was so quick to take it down, I parried with the weight of his opinion contributing to my removing the post.
“It shouldn’t matter,” he said.
“It doesn’t with other people, you are my husband. I trust you.”
Pick, pick, pick.
“You just need to be sure of yourself.”
“But you knew, usually you ask my opinion does this meander too much, is it too long? You didn’t this time.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“See, I was right.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yeah I was.” Infuriating smile.
“I knew it was perfect so I didn’t need your opinion.”
“But you deleted it.” He smirked.
“You bet your ass I did, it’s too sticky for this and I didn’t spend that much time on it.”
Maddeningly, he continued smiling. Sexy, despite wanting to smack him.
“But it was good, and different. “
Back and forth, snipe, snark, sweat. Ugh. I pulled a Briarism out of my hat.
“I just want to be all done.”
Then it went unspoken, but we both knew I’d blog this, effectively springing me from my rut. Because, yes, it was weak and my deleting it meant I didn’t love it. And the truth is, when I write what I write and then hit publish, I only do it if I love it.
But if you managed to catch it in the 3.5 minutes it was up, I kind of love you too.