Dear Internet,

Umm…we need to talk.

I think we need a break from each other. No, not me and Bill. Not me and Nicki. And no, not me and Barb…even though you’re convinced I don’t give a flip about her. No. Me and you. Me and you, internet. Things have gotten…angry. Tense. Not nice. Judgmental. Snappy. Snippy. Harsh…

Maybe it’s because I’m in a heightened emotional state with the baby coming. (Which reminds me, if I continue the blog, the next time I’m preggers, I’ll include extensive photo documentation of my waist line, bunions, and uterus so that maybe a few less people could ask if I’m really pregnant.) So, maybe my emotions are haywire, I’ll admit. But I just don’t think I’m feeling it anymore…right now, at least. Maybe in a couple of weeks. (A couple months?) Maybe I’ll get back in the saddle and crank this thing up again, when I have the stomach for the good, the bad, and the ugly. But I’m taking a break for now. I don’t need this. It’s hurting my feelings. It’s making me feel worse about myself. It’s making me sad. Why would you want that to happen? Where do you get off, Internet?

I guess I need to work on my delivery…here and out in the world. (And I guess I need thicker skin, too, but I hate that I do and that thick skin is looked at as a good thing. Why is that? All it proves is that you’ve gotten hurt before…all it proves is that you’re less sensitive than before…it’s so stupid.) I get mad, you say I’m “throwing a tantrum”. Barb gets mad and she’s “telling it like it is”. I’m sorry, but that’s unfair. Barb and I have different points of view…different opinions…we’re different people. I’m not in Barb’s head…and the closest you get to being in mine is what I write here. You don’t know everything. You don’t anything, in fact. A lot of you want to relate to Barb, and there isn’t an ounce wrong with that. If you don’t relate to her, you should because in a lot of ways, she’s as good as it gets. But she’s not perfect. That’s not an insult. That’s a statement of fact, ok? You don’t need to defend her to me. I get what she’s gone through. Believe me. I get it more than you do and if what I’ve said or done has made you not believe that, I’m sorry. But to say she’s the only one who has sacrificed to be in this family is absolutely ridiculous. And to keep count is just as insane. (Is there a way to score who’s gained the most? Doubt it.) It doesn’t matter who you think has contributed more or less…if you’re keeping track, you’re missing the entire point. I regret a lot of what I’ve said to Barb…especially in the past couple of days. I’ve been short with her. I’ve tried to prove a point or two by being a little over the top. I’ve put her in situations she probably didn’t enjoy being in, and I’m sorry. I’ve told her that. I told her that. I don’t need to tell you that, Internet. Feel free to stop reading. And I’ll help, by not writing…for a while. I don’t want to let you win by giving up all together (plus I’m used to typing now. Writing with a pen gives my hand cramps now anyway. I guess I could type and still not go public with it but you’d love that too much, internet.)

I’m not feeling sorry for myself that I’m catching so much hell from you, Internet. I’m just kind of over it for now. Maybe we can get back together in the future, near or far. I need to exhale…and I think you might, too. I thought things were hard in the real world! They’re even harder when you have a peanut gallery. During my time exiled from cyberspace, however long it is, feel free to write about your lives. Expect consequences, though. There are more than you might think. You feel worse about mistakes when you’re called out. I’m just warning you. Maybe I’ll make up another screen name and write mean things to the folks that have called me selfish, childish, blind, and dumb….let them see what it’s like to have mistakes highlighted for the world to see. I won’t. I don’t even know if I want to or not. I just feel like being mean for mean’s sake. That’s pointless. So, scratch it. I won’t do that. I promise.

So if you don’t hear from me for a while, don’t worry about me…not that you would. I’ll be fine. We’re fine. The family’s fine. Barb and I squared away a lot of what’s been eating at us and whether you believe it or not, we’re fine, too. I apologized to her…and believe it or not, she apologized to me, too. She knows I’m not perfect and I know she’s not and Bill’s not and Nicki’s not and OUR SITUATION is not and while the “valleys” might not seem valuable to you…I guarantee we’re better for them as a family. I’ll be thinking about you a lot. I’m sorry I disappointed you…but I can’t care that much…even though I want to…I know that I don’t, deep down. Maybe I’ll make you proud of me again in the future. That’d be nice. But it’s not that important.

I’ll be in touch. I’ll give you updates when I’m up for it. I’ll read your hate mail…but I won’t give you any new ammo for a while. What I’ve given you so far has been returned to sender and it’s chinked my armor. Probably just another example of my immaturity, but…it’s true and it does, in fact, hurt. I doubt that was the goal…I don’t know exactly how malicious you are, Internet…but your tongue is sharp. I know that now. A good lesson to learn. One that will help me when we meet up again. I can’t ask you to keep stopping by if I’m not giving you anything to read regularly…but I kinda hope you will…just to see say what’s up. Hope. I won’t blame you if you don’t. I wouldn’t, if I were you. But…just don’t forget about me. I’ll upload some pictures of the baby when SHE is born (I’ve known for a while…wanted to say something…but…).
We’ll cross paths again, I’m sure.
Sincerely,
Margene Henrickson,
wife of Bill, Barb, and Nicki…
mother of Ben, Sarah, Teenie, Wayne, Raymond, Aaron, Lester, and Nell.