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….said Truman Capote…
There are times, when I think our lives are nothing but a story we make up… and my story of the deep intimacy I shared with my ex husband Paul motivated me to write some 70,000 words of a memoir I titled “ for better or for better… the story of divorce, devotion, and dachshunds”

Over time I’ve come to realize the story I wanted to write, was just a narrative to make it all look fun and potentially a script for a successful sitcom.
There is another story to tell and I’m just not sure I’m emotionally
equipped to tell it… I wanted to make it a story of love conquers all but now I realize it’s a story of terror and deception. And I introduced my ex-husband to the partner with whom he shared a 20 year relationship and who ultimately betrayed him, and in my view, ultimately killed him with the pain he caused Paul….well it’s another book now. …the closer I get to closing out our shared house on Page Street the more I uncover feelings, thoughts, emotions, accusations, and obfuscations I allowed myself to hide from through the years of their relationship. Paul really loved Stephen but more on point he needed him…. Needed him to a painful degree and when Stephen became unfaithful, I do believe it killed Paul..

So that’s another book to write and honestly I’m not sure I’m up to it… it’s all I can do right now to write my daily prompts. I am so filled with the emotions. I am uncovering as I empty our shared house on Page Street. Each doorhandle I touch.
Each cupboard I empty, each box of tea I throw away, or give to my friends opens up memory, after memory of meals cooked, thanksgivings shared around the one piece of furniture we have left in the house the dining room table… well by the time I finished working on the kitchen yesterday I was thoroughly exhausted….
I had to struggle to get to my new 19th floor, beautiful apartment and fall into bed to sleep.
I want to be able to write the truer more current and truthful story of my relationship, my role in the story of what I used to call our 20th century family, but for now the stabs into the narrative by writing these prompts is all I can do.
My main concern is to get to the truth, the emotional truth, the most honest truth I can find myself, so I can understand myself better.

Finally, I believed our stories are our attempt at getting to know ourselves better.
We write to discover ourselves.
Someone famous said they never know what they think until they write it down.
I get it. So I shall keep writing, even when I can’t stop crying.