What do I dare to wish? What good are flaws? Ebb negotiate random. I begin writing and I feel distraction nipping at my ankles. It has been something of a way of life this week as the blahdom has pointed its long, ugly finger into my chest
Self-doubts are such a plague upon me. Don’t know what else to say. Seriously. Plaguing. Me. So, Samuel was in a pickle of a mood this morning, left the house almost in tears because he couldn’t play on the computer because Emma put up a password. Poor guy. I hope he does decently this morning. I wish sometimes I had a direct line to his teachers so I could warn them to be extra gentle. Testing wreaks havoc on his nervous system and mine, too. I feel like something so oh, wordify it. How do or how can I wordify it? I am so programmed to think and write only the positive, only the gratuitious only that which appears brightly colored and pleasingly textured. No word grenades or destructive rocks thrown from the tower, only gentle wafts of feminine kindness smelling like lilac perfume. Jamie’s web question, “What do you dare to wish” brings me back to “What are the questions you have avoided asking? Risk them.” This morning my entire kitchen table and all the crap I left piled there (I know, I shouldn’t have) had been swept onto the floor. This is where Samuel’s crankiness started, “Where is last week’s homework?” The answer is simple, I don’t know and it may be in that messy pile… it wasn’t there when I started picking through it this morning. I wrote a terse note to Ms. Cortez, who knows what will come of it though. 291 words. I feel myself wanting to stop. And flaws, that is what shows up on RWP today for NaPoWriMo. Maybe I will write a one word poem. Flaws. Me. LOL. Oh, that sounds like a positive thinker, alright! ME! Giggles. People do expect sunshiney people to always be sunshiney. I am home now for I am not sure how long, probably the majority of the day. Emma was asleep early last night, perhaps she will come with me when I go to do the costume thing which I don’t even want to do. “Tragedians do your thing”. Oh, sheesh. I wish, oh how I wish it was different. I don’t want to audition anymore, yet on Saturday I am auditioning because there is something I actually WANT to do but probably won’t get cast for so perhaps I won’t even try. Maybe that is what I need to dare. “If only I would lead a conventional life, like everyone else does,” I said to him. I am unwilling to do that. Completely unwilling. Where does that unwillingness live? Does it live in fear or does it live in empowerment? That is an interesting place to wrestle about for a while. I had interrupted sleep last night. I was afraid. I am afraid. Vestiges of childhood plague my thinking, still. That chasm that happened that continues to rock me, deep inside. How do I get it out. How do I bridge it? How do I live with that split? I am thinking of those small cracks in the ground, the ones that turn into a canyon over time. Not so easy to step through and across anymore. Not at all. I feel stuck on this side. I feel like I put on a costume and read from a script to hang out on that other side. Maybe I need to go to therapy again. Last time when I found a good therapist, she ended up going almost part time, available only once a month or so. That isn’t feeling like enough yet better than this nothing. I wonder what wait. Productivity and action is usually the best cure. Like last night, feeling like crap and then along came Trotsky rehearsal and I was laughing and joking and enjoying the creative process and all of a sudden, I felt better. I am tired of being teased. I don’t like it. I wonder why these same bloody themes won’t stop bumping into me, headlong, ugly. Morose. Covered with spider webs. Self indulgent. Forgetful of the vision. Forgetful of what I stand for. Forgetful of the gifts I carry in my being, those that want to be used, dusted off and taken out for a growing group of souls. No longer held so tight, so hoarded, so bent upon not being broken that they are in a glass box, separate and untainted but never used. Only looked at, on display of what was or could have been, maybe, if she had only…...
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