Unsaid

It's difficult for me to not cut at the heart of what I see. And sometimes I am wrong. But all the more reason to cut. To ask! To find out! To fix.

In Carrie Brownstein's book she details the breakup of her lover but not their shared band. She is someone who stays willfully ignorant when faced with danger. She would write riffs to back up her ex/bandmate's lyrics without even really hearing them. She made herself play dumb. Years later, of course, she could look at them and realize what each song said about her. Imagine if at the time she had analyzed and demanded a harsh and true conversation. Those songs may well not have existed.

In elementary school My best friend Fran and I would get into fights. Little dumb fights. And we would avoid each other for an hour or so before falling back into normal routines. Once I addressed this. I wanted to learn how to mediate. "Sometimes we fight and we never apologize or anything. We just act like it never happened," I said. "That's why we're such good friends," she told me. I was suspicious.