Ride It Like You Stole It

Life
It isn't something that is supposed to be docile and tame
Something dull and predictable
Life is something raw, wild and ever changing
It flows like the tides...
Waxing and waning like the moon
It's a Mustang on the prairie
Wind whipping through her mane
Sun glinting off her coat
The power of the ages in every curve of her muscle
The energy of the Earth in the pounding of her hooves
Life is something that we don't tame
Acknowledge the power that we've been blessed with
Take a deep breath
Climb aboard and give it the best ride we've got
You can't tame it
Learn to work in harmony with it
Listen to where you are supposed to be going, instead of trying to force it to bend to your will
Stop fighting it and enjoy the ride

That's just not write!

 

Writing is a lost art.

I don't mean that no one is filling shelf after shelf with books.

Or that there is a lack of people seeking to get their work published.

I mean that so few people WRITE anymore.

I have lately been struggling with, what I thought, was a particularly vexing patch of stagnant inspiration.

I have this desire...just under the surface...bubbling deep...ever building... and aching to break free, like the forces under the Earth's surface, but no matter how I try to shake it loose...nothing. 

It won't come to the top in that gloriously eloquent fountain of tumbling words.  That frantic, nearly painful chaos, that spills up out of your heart, into your mind, glowing brighter and hotter until it boils out the tips of your fingers, onto the keyboard in a rapid frenzy of keystrokes.

And THAT, my friends, is when it hit me! 

I'm not lacking the inspiration.

I'm not lacking the need, and certainly not the desire.

It's the  cold feel of the keyboard that is killing it.  The culprit is the empty clickety-clack of the keys as I try impotently to lay my thoughts  out.

That's not writing.

I need the feel of the paper.  The scratch of the pen as it flies across it, almost as if it's under its own power. I need the weight, the sound, the smell...the actual writing.

And not this block letter, stick figure printing they are teaching kids in school these days. 

NO!  That will never do!

I need true writing!  We were graded on it.  Most people under 25 today can't read it. 

CURSIVE folks.  True writing. 

The flow

The artistry

The poetry of it

The sheer beauty of it

The dance of the letters, working together to tell a story.

The ballet, tango, rhumba and twist of language. The waltz between parchment and ink.

Glorious harmony!

Wrapping a reader in a magical land and transporting you to places you've never dreamed could exist.

Cursive is like a woman. Full of curves and mystical beauty that you only truly appreciate as you get to know  her, and no two examples are exactly the same.  Each spectacular and unique in their own way.

You just can't replace something so beautiful and natural, with something artificial and cold.

Now and Later

There’s no rhyme or reason to it.

It either is, or it isn’t.

But, isn’t that the way of all things?

What other options are there? Something either is…or it isn’t.

You can't force it.

It's the age old adage of the "square peg and the round hole".

It’s just that simple.

Right?

Now, the one exception to the rule, because all things have an exception, is our perception of what’s good or acceptable, in that particular moment.

 That’s quite a gray area, now isn’t it?

What may be acceptable tends to fluctuate.

As we grow older, we, hopefully, grow wiser.

In our 20's we think we are wordly and educated.  We are on fire about so many things, and we set out to take the world by storm.  Truthfully, we are just smart enough to cause a minor train wreck.

By the time we are in our 30's, we can choose our battles a little better, but still tend to trip over our feet from time to time, which is to be expected.  We're just smart enough to really screw things up, but also fairly well equipped to fix it. 

Our 40's are the time we sit back and realize that our parents, and grandparents, really did have alot more things figured out than we gave them credit for.  Suddenly, the light bulb over heads come on with near full intensity.  As the shadows of ill informed youth begin to leave our minds, we realize there truly is no need to sweat the petty stuff we've stressed over all this time.   Chances are if we do demolish something at this age, we don't want to fix it.  We annihilated it on purpose...just saying.

We realize that it's ok to say No...and to MEAN IT. 

We realize that doing things for ourselves isn't "selfish".  It's self preserving and self nurturing. 

Don't get it?

You're too young to understand.  I'll tell you when you're older.

Write, Wrong or Indifferent

Writing is more than just a string of words on paper.

Writing is an intimate act.

It’s a sharing of hopes

Dreams

Fears

Failures

Accomplishments

Milestones

Stripping away all pretense.

Exposing our soul.

Displaying our innermost self.

A glaring spotlight on our every fault

Shortcoming

Struggle

Strength

Ambition

Triumph

An uncensored expose of each and every aspect of our character.

It’s a yard stick by which we can measure our growth.

Emotional

Spiritual

Mental

Writing is more than just putting words to paper.

This Too Shall Pass....

....Like a kidney stone.


January 12th will be a year since Dad died.  (Of course, I'm still super pissed about not finding out until the 13th, but we'll not get on that little soap box right now.)  The thing is, it's my first Christmas without him being here. 

The first Christmas that I don't have to decide if I want to chance having interaction with him.

The first Christmas I don't have to feel guilty about not going to see him, or berating myself if I do and it goes badly.

It's the first Christmas where I truly feel like I don't have to put up with other "family" that I don't want to be around.  (I cannot stand the idea of putting on a fake front and playing nice with people that you really have no desire to be around. NOT the spirit and meaning behind Christmas, so why do we do that?)

Yes sir, for the most part, this has the makings of a new kind of weird Christmas.

Don't get me wrong, I miss Dad.  It's weird knowing that it's over, he's gone, there's no "maybe tomorrow".  He'll never see all my kids graduate.  He'll never have great grandkids.  It's just done. 

Fini

The one thing I have gained from all this is that I've been shown the true colors of others and freed from any guilt I may have felt from not doing my part to keep in closer touch with them.  Hallmark, and everyone else cashing in on the holidays, tells us that holidays are a time for family and mending fences and blah blah blah. It's all sunshine and happiness.

Bullshit.

It's awkward situations filled with people who are glancing furtively at their watches to see if they've stayed long enough to be able to make an acceptable escape.

It's people who are wishing they were having a lobotomy without sedation, instead of being cooped up in the stuffy house with people that grate on them like 80 grit toilet paper.

It's people feeling stressed out beyond belief and dying to run as far and as fast as they can.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

Yes, I can hear you saying "because it's the right thing to do" or "because it means so much to (insert relative here)" .  Or my favorite "I do it to try to keep the peace".

At what point was the huge responsibility of being Peace Keeper set upon your shoulders?  Are you the Wyatt Earp of the holidays? 

Is it acceptable for you to have the stress and anxiety piled on you, while you work, often without true success, to keep the entire mess from falling into chaos?

I think not.

The holidays are indeed meant to be a happy time that we share with people we care about the most.  A time to be thankful for the good things in our lives.

It's not a time to wish Rolaids came in a Pez dispenser because you're popping them in rapid fire succession on the way to Grandma's. 

It's not supposed to be a time that you hope you can get just enough of a happy buzz going before that doorbell rings, so you can float your way through the inevitable conflict that is threatening to break the surface at any moment.

And that relative you dread the most?  You know the one.  The one who puts on airs and a fake front, but swears no one can see through him? The one who thinks that everyone is in awe of him and just so amazed by what a righteous, glorified, perfect person he is?  The one who has inflated his own self worth to ridiculous, unrealistic levels? 

You know the one I mean.  The one that has his exit followed by a sigh of relief by the whole group.

Why would you let this relative ruin a perfectly good holiday?  Just simply don't allow it.  It really is that easy.

My holiday plans this year are simple.  Spend time with those who I want to be around.   I'll be spending the day with The Linebacker and the BF.

I may not get to see my Grandma's on Christmas, but that's ok, I'll catch up with them after Christmas, when we have time to actually sit and enjoy some time together, without the chaos and tension, and without the time restrictions when you factor in driving to several different places.

There's nothing wrong with spending the holidays the way YOU choose to spend them.  I'm very thankful for the friends and family that I share my life with, no matter the distance between us.  And for those that I choose not to include in my life, well, I'm thankful that I don't have to pretend that the situation is something different than what it is.

Merry Christmas to those that mean so much to me and mine.

The rest? 

Happy trails to you....

I Could If I Wanted To

I deal with things through sarcasm for many reasons, not the least of which, is that I have found it to be much cheaper than bail.  It also keeps my sanity, at least somewhat, intact.

What I have to watch is the tendency to say things that I mean.  I recognize that I have the unfailing ability to go for the jugular, and that I have no problems doing so.  When I've reached my tolerance level for stupidity or bullshit, or if I feel suddenly on the defensive, I am prone to pull all the stops and rip you to shreds, smiling all the while.  I will go straight for that one weak spot that I see in you and I will attack.  No regrets.

But, in the interest of not being a complete bitch, I try to temper it....at least a little. 

After growing with a narcissistic father, who had a myriad of crutches, I have a whole bunch of screwed up tendencies.  I waver from insecure to not giving a shit.  I bounce from wearing my heart on my sleeve and wanting to help everyone I meet, to shutting the emotional light switch off completely.

All through school, I was pretty shy and tried to please everyone.  I kept a low profile and tried to just float along quietly, because I thought that was easier.  As I reached my Junior and Senior year, I realized that no matter HOW I behaved, it wasn't going to be right, so I started waiting for the chance to be me.  I even lived in a foster home for a short time during my Junior year because I refused to go home.  I was starting to get just a hint of a backbone.  Dad gave me a big sob story (and I felt bad that Mom was stuck in the middle of all this) and I went home, but I think he started to see that I would only take so much.  Two days after graduation I moved out. I let my guard down and started to discover me, little by little.  Mostly, I was searching for acceptance because I'd never been good enough in my father's eyes, or so I thought.  And I knew, deep down (WAY deep down), that I was so much better than what he seemed to think I was.  My mind would tell me I wasn't, but somehow I knew better.

My shyness and refusal to rock the boat turned into a mix of "I'll play nice as long as you do".  I would try to keep the peace, but found myself only allowing people to push me so far.  I had finally learned to draw a line....and stand by it!  It was scary as hell and freeing at the same time! 

Sometimes that damned line is a little wavy, and sometimes I almost forget to protect it, but I work at it even now.

I also realized that the narcissism, drug & alcohol use was not an acceptable excuse for being a prick.  I tried for 34 years to figure out what it was that he wanted from me. 

Here's the thing.....it's not that I wasn't good enough.  Much of the problem was that HIS demons (from being raised with an abusive narcissist) kept telling him HE wasn't good enough.  His own narcissism, mixed with being a child in a long line of narcissists, made our lives a living hell at times.  The whole reason Dad volunteered to join the Army and headed off to Vietnam was because he wanted to die.  No joke.  The man ran from demons the entire time I knew him.  He wanted to be a gunner because he knew they had a very short life expectancy.  Instead, he worked as an X-ray Tech in a MASH unit, where he dealt with horrors that he only talked to me about once.  I can't begin to imagine what it would've been like.  The sounds, the smells, the carnage.  And after serving your country, for two tours, only to come home and be labeled a Baby Killer?  Again, he couldn't do anything right, just like when he was growing up. 

Sometimes I feel myself almost wanting to release narcissistic tendencies.  Then I realize, that I'm not a true narcissist because I empathize with those around me.  I truly feel other peoples pain and wish I could fix it.

But, there IS a part of me that whispers how much easier it would be to just admit that no one else does it right, or that I should be the center of their world, or some other inane bullshit.  In the next breath, that same voice whispers that I'm not worthy to be the center of anyone's world, or that I'm the one who is wrong.

Both of those voices can kiss my ass!  I'm not perfect, but I am pretty damned amazing.  I'm loyal to a fault.  I'm honest (also to a fault usually).  I'm smart, funny and a whole lot of fun to be with.  What I'm not is a pushover or a doormat.  At least, not as much as I used to be. 

I'm still working on all of it, and am slowly making new discoveries about myself. 

I'm not perfect, but I could do anything if I wanted to.

Just because

I write to appease the demons. They being angst, insecurity and frustration.

I write to free the mind. It is often convoluted and chaotic.

I write to soothe the soul. It being hungry for something nameless and just out of reach.

I write for me.