Truth is I am not feeling dark, unless that is, you consider the acid-reflux-filled stomach monster that kept me tossing, turning and praying for an exorcism ALL NIGHT LONG, all night.  I think it was the chili. And now unable to stop my head bobbing and my toe tapping, I take my Dark Friday post the long way round (great Ewan-McGregor-Reality-Motorcycle-television-show, by the way, and yes, it is indeed called, “The Long Way Round”).  Well, as I digress, I sing, and in truth, I also imagine a sexy Ewan, and his lovely friend Charley Boorman, riding their motorcycles and singing with me. I cannot resist, and continue singing this beloved 1980’s Lionel Ritchie classic quietly (of course) while Dave and I sit in a Starbucks.  “Well, my friends, the time has come, to raise the roof and have some fun, throw away the work to be done, let the music play on….play on, play on, play on…all night long. All night.” Come on. Sing it. Sing with me.

Do you know it? I will not assume you do. If not, may I suggest you Google this lovely treat, and know as you do that I am singing it too.

Back on track, back in my acid-reflux-praying-for-an-exorcism haze, it was now 2:00 a.m. and as Dave made his way into our room, then the bathroom, and then onto the toilet, all I could think is, “Dave, come back! I can’t get up. I need you. I need you to go back down to the kitchen and get me a chewable Pepcid (best stomach settler ever, btw)!”

Instead finished his business, washed his hands, and then took the full, recommended time to brush his teeth, and I am certain he flossed too, damn it!  Writhing in pain, never have I wanted this man so badly and no, it did not occur to me that I could simply get the Pepcid myself. About and hour or so later (in truth, about five minutes) Dave made his way to our bed. “Please oh please Dave, before you climb in our warm and cozy bed, will you please go get me a Pepcid?”

And he did.

Dark Friday? As pukey, grumpy, shrill, and dark as I was this morning, dark is not where I am now. My guess is that even though he totally got on my nerves earlier, I feel light, because Dave is home. I am grateful. Not all of my moments are light, and I promise now that I will paint true. I promise I will not apply the Polyurethane on too generously or hide away my sorrow under a massive and glossy sheen. My guess is that when most of us chip away at our carefully crafted self-presentations, we are filled with both brilliant light and scary dark.  We are really duct tape together pieces of who we think we need to be and who we are.

I know when I write, people respond most often to the dark, and through my words I have been able to reach that place I have always been afraid to touch.  I am also glad that dark is not usually how I spend my boring day-to-day.  That being said, I love to write dark. I don’t mind the weepy melancholy. I don’t mind the bat-shit-crazy fear. I like the rush, and it probably makes me a little weird, right? Oh well.  I love that when I write the dark, hands break through, encouraging comments seep in, and somehow me through the tunnel.  Thank you for that.

I think about navigating our way through the dark, and finding the door, I think about all the stuff. I think about all the garbage, the scary tragedies, the suicides, thoughts of suicide, the abusive wives, the passive husbands, the mean stupid mean girls (yes, I intentionally used the word meant twice), the Botox, the bullies (who really do come in all shapes, ages and sizes), the I-am-better-than yous, the eating disorders, the drunk drivers who kill our babies, their meth addicted mothers, and alcoholic grandmothers. I think about the devastating and unexpected illnesses, the houses taking forever to sell, the husband who works far away, the caustic, selfish divorces, the job losses, and all the other things that make us grow stronger, or kill us, right?  Ouch!

And as I think I have spent a lot of time thinking about why our various veneers vary in thickness, a tongue twister indeed. Try saying Irish wristwatch ten times fast.  Irish wristwatch. Irish wristwatch…I think most of us are aware of the fact that we are currently living in a world where our insides do not always match our outsides; and my guess is that some of us think our insides are so horrible that we paint our outside walls into a fortress.  We make great effort to keep our walls secure, and because we do, I think a lot about transparency. And by this I mean the ability to find our way out of the dark while not hiding the fact that we were there.  Sure, I see the need for a strong foundation, yet wonder why we can’t install a few windows? Are our insides really that bad?  And maybe if we could let people see in, they would see that their insides are filled with a beating heart, lungs filled with air, and a healthy digestive system (nod to my achy stomach). Maybe we would all see that our own insides are not that ugly either, you know what I mean? I know you do. We don’t have to be a bitch about our bad day, do we have to always pretend everything is ok?

How can we be ourselves while not scaring the crap out of everyone around us? How do we wear our truth? How can we make our dark shine brighter than our light?