Who’s the writer?

I find it funny – though not the least bit surprising – that my wife, who won’t so much as let me read the papers she writes for school, has finally started an anonymous blog, and in the few posts she’s written so far, expresses more honesty and raw emotion than I have in my own writing in years. Perhaps ever.

Sure, the anonymity makes it a bit easier, but more than that, there’s the noticeably deeper connection she has to her feelings that I seem to lack. I’m more of an observer, never able to completely live within a moment, more likely to show emotion over a football game than something that’s actually important. We half-joked at one point that maybe I had Asperger’s Syndrome, the kind of late-term realization that’s apparently not uncommon amongst parents of autistic children. My relatively social childhood wouldn’t seem to match up with that diagnoisis, though.

Maybe I’m just a big jerk?

(Shut up! That’s a rhetorical question.)

PS: Don’t ask me where her blog is. She’s only told a select handful of people and wants to remain as anonymous as possible with it.