Because it was the Angel in the House that stood between my pen and paper, rather the keyboard and my blog, slicing and dicing every single thought that came to my mind, to the point it made no sense to share what was left over.
She appeared too suddenly, lurking in the corners and pouncing upon the thoughts even before they made it to print. Occasionally when they made it to the print, she would say I talk too much, sound childish, and am seeking attention, whereas only the opposite was true. I was talking less, growing up and reaching out.
"You don't really want to share that, do you?" she would ask; and quickly decide for herself I didn't want to. She would say things like, "that is silly", "this is boastful", "save it" or "no one wants to hear it".
She wouldn't take any protests. She talked a lot, listened less, and never sympathized. She didn't care for my cry stories she would say. She said ladies ought to behave certain way and she was teaching me that.
I had managed to write a nice letter once from an airplane during my business travel. Another I wrote from a train. She didn't want to hear any of it.
"Why do you want to tell them that?", she demanded. "Well, why not?", I countered. She didn't like that, not one bit. She simply scratched it off, tore it to pieces, hit delete and shut down.
She hardly smiles. Pretends to be all grown up; but I am sure she can't be a day older than me.
It is hard. I must say very hard; life under her powerful wings.
I try to break free but to no avail.
Even this is an attempt to resurface from these depths. Can someone hear me? Please help me out!
Now, before she stalks me again, let me click publish!
Note: Virginia Wolf, however, had killed her Angel in the House. Her Professional Women is one of my favorite essays. Here's a link if you are interested. Please read if you can spare a few minutes...
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