The whole writing thing for me is like that first dip of the season in the freshly opened pool...first the big toe, then maybe a whole foot, then back out. Then right foot followed by the left foot, and then sitting on the edge splashing my upper legs. When I finally get my whole body in it's that moment of shock, perhaps I'll call it numbing pain, and then it's as if everything is gloriously comfortable and perfect submerged in the water. Then, the next time...it's just the same old thing.
I'm a cluster writer because of this. Or maybe you say I'm not dedicated. Perhaps my writing self-esteem is lacking. Or maybe I'm afraid of what my soul may give away. Haven't I vanquished enough demons? Doesn't the world now know my deepest and darkest? Maybe, but I still keep the boogie man under my bed for safe keeping.
So what about me? Really?! After a year of nightmares, therapists, doctors, groups, articles printed and emailed, videos from the doula, and you still ask, "what about me?" Honey, get a grip...this one is not about you. And if you keep trying to get me to turn back into my co-dependent-wonderwoman-miracle-worker it ain't ever gonna happen. Seriously, am I supposed to think it's cute that you've developed a sibling rivalry with your own child? Fucking man-up, dude. Life is not cherries or chocolates or warm fluffies. It's lemon in your papercut, salt in your razor burn, and vinagar for wine.
ARrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg. Heartburn. Exhaustion. Disgust. Disappointment.
I want my child to strive for what her heart desires: to work hard, to achieve goals, believe that anything is possible. But. But she also needs to learn that nothing is free, hard work doesn't always pay off, you can't always get what you want...and contrary to the Rolling Stones commentary on life, sometimes you don't even get what you need. I've grown sour on the motto that you can have or be anything you want if you just work hard and give it 110%. Opportunity knocks and closes doors, and you aren't always standing in the right doorway. You have to learn survival and have back up plans and know that life isn't paved in gold and dreams are to be reached for, but can't control your choices. In the end we have a lazy, self-righteous, ingracious group of adults who think it's ok to merely be. Hippies went out of fashion for a reason, and with them the notion that the Universe always provides. Go live in Haiti or Brazil or the Congo; go anywhere but here, and you'll see that it doesn't always work out in the end.
"It always works out somehow." You're kidding me right? People die. Families separate. Poverty is a fact. Pollution and disease are real. Money and power are evil. It really doesn't always work out: you just learn to be miserable and survive and shut up. And for those lucky ones that get to put on a pair of rose colored glasses and say it's half full, I'm happy for you, but I lost mine, so I hate you. Conspiracy theorist and bandwagonist are the true anti-christ, spreading messages of panic and fear in the modern people. Does anyone have original thoughts anymore? Is there really nothing new to invent? Are we really that thoughtless and careless?
I used to be an eternal optimist. I could pep talk and comfort the hardest hit. I would pick up and dust off the downtrodden, and take most of them home to mend and stregthen. They say people come in and out of your life for a reason for a time for a season. I do believe that. Or at least I did. With the advent of technology and social networking we prevent this beautiful experience from enriching our lives. We can't come and go. We can't hide and seek. We are all just bobbing in the same wave. Don't get me wrong. I am enjoying this shared moment. I love the proximity that modern technology has given me to those old and new, near and far, dear and not so much. Hey conspiracy folk - the Matrix is already here.
Who the heck is this woman? My patience. My humor. My strength. My love and peaceful nature. Maybe I gave them away. Why am I jaded and dark and pissed? The boogieman is whispering...time to close shop for the day.
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