The best part of writing a column for a weekly paper is that if you happen to step on your own va-judy and piss a bunch of people off, it's usually all but forgotten a week later.
For me, when I am in a relationshipy situation, I write about it. Sometimes people get over it, sometimes they don't. That is after all the idea behind the column. It is in fact about the ups and downs or is it the ins and outs of relationships. It is not: "Wink Pix Top 10 Flix". And it is not: "Psychic Wink, Your Future as Seen through the Open Eye." Nope, it is about dating and relationships, relationships with others, relationship with self, but usually about the search for true and everlasting love, the occasional finding of said love and more often than not, the dissipation of that same love.
Anyone who is familiar with my column knows the cycle: Greet. Meet. Fall. Break up. Move on ...
No manufactured drama, baby, just life. Because that is the shot, isn't it? You're cruising along, minding your own business thinking you're in complete control when suddenly you're thrown a zinger! Your best friend is diagnosed with HIV, your kid is a day drinker, you try online dating and you get raped or, by some miracle of fate, someone comes along and takes your breath away and you pray that this time it's going to stick ... and it does. For a while.
Then, the fear kicks in. And, no matter how much freakin' therapy you've had, no matter how much freakin' work you've done on yourself to stop drinking the drinks and popping the pills that will numb the pain, it's the one thing you cannot overcome. So you cut bait because that's how you protect yourself. That's how you get a taste of living without ever really having to live. No pain = no pain—that's my motto. But it changes you. Every time you go through it, even if it is self-induced, you're a tiny bit more cynical and it's that much harder to start over again. But you do. Because it's what keeps your blood pumping.
It is my highest high and like any good junkie, I feed my addiction. I love falling in love—it nourishes me. Unfortunately, sometimes my compulsion leads me down some pretty sketchy paths.
For the past few weeks, I have been writing about my most recent love affair; although short, it was truly sweet. I will always hold a special place in my heart for my writer guy. I knew right away that there would be difficulties in keeping the veracity of the column because of the relationship between my new love and my career. Yes, we work for the same company. Yes, I dipped my pen into the company's ink, in more ways than one. And, yes, the end result was that the pressure was more than I could take and I chose my column over my new man. What a bitch, right? I mean I probably should have given up my column, my outlet, my crutch for a man I've known for all of about eight weeks. Then again, falling in love is my strong suit, staying there never has been.
When I asked him if he'd be interested in writing my column for me one week to talk about what it's like to be in a relationship with me, he jumped at the chance. In fact, to quote the very column he himself wrote, " ... but to be part of the column is to accept that you will be linked to that particular piece of writing—there is no choice, to me. Paint me silly, but if you are the boyfriend of a woman who writes a column about relationships, you will be in that column. And I support her because it is part of who she is and what she does, period." Sort of sounds like a grown-ass man who knew exactly what he was getting into. But I guess that doesn't excuse my lack of decorum—you know, being a relationship columnist and writing about my relationship. What a bitch.
In times like this I like to ask myself: What would Carrie Bradshaw do? Oh, wait a minute ... Carrie Bradshaw is a fictitious character made up by the brilliant minds of a bunch of single thirtysomethings who brought their experiences to life through her character. I on the other hand don't have the luxury of having someone else write characters in and out of my life or help create some sappy, happy ending. I'm making it up as I go along, no manufactured drama, baby, just life. I am the real deal. I am a 38-year-old single mother of two who just so happens to live in the City of Sin and who is out there, sometimes really looking for it, sometimes really hiding from it and sometimes really falling flat on my face, but always owning it.
No, I don't always pick the right guys; sometimes I actually get picked, open my heart and get shit on. That's the nature of the single beast. But, for the most part, that's the niche I was hired to cover. And for the better part of three and a half years, that is exactly what I have done.
Some people are bored by the whole thing and some read me against their better judgment. Perhaps it's the voyeuristic aspect, perhaps they just like knowing that there's someone out there that has worse luck than they do when it comes to matters of the heart. Why people read Wink is not known to me, but the fact is: They do. And for that I am grateful.
I don't know what '06 has in store for me, but I'm willing to find out and ... willing to impart it with those of you interested enough to share in my journey. Or you can just be a passenger in this crazy game of life and judge everyone who does anything that doesn't sit well with you. In my opinion, being the passenger sucks. I'd rather be in the thick of it. No manufactured drama, baby. Just life.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?