Deborah Lipp

I’ve been struggling with a desire to write some personal stuff that is Too Much Information. I blog under my real name. I sell books. I am a Well Known Author™. So every time I think to write something, some of my better angels come to my rescue and say “Y’know, Deb, not everyone reading that is the audience you mean it for.”

Which is hard right now, because the thing I feel compelled to write is inappropriate, and I’m left with nothing to say.

So let’s try this: A relationship I sort-of-had got broken by someone well-meaning who interfered. I am not heartbroken, it was not that kind of relationship, although it might have become such someday. I’ll miss it. And I’m angry. And I’m trying to adjust my internal organs around not having this person in my life anymore, and around having been messed with badly by people who love me. So not heartbroken, but a little bit broken.

It’s going to take me a few days. I almost wish I was heartbroken, because a good cry might get the whole ugly mess out of my system.