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.

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.

Atta boy!

There have been many times that I've been proud of each of my kids.  Last night, The Linebacker outdid himself and I'm so very proud of the person he's becoming.

He played two football games last night, and even though he was hot, tired and sore, he gave his all.  For every minute, of every game, he played with everything he had.  Not only did he demonstrate good sportsmanship, he demonstrated a helluva lot of heart!

He played for the 7th grade team, which is short a couple players now due to injuries.  He started out playing defense for them, but about halfway into the game an offensive player got hurt so he took that position too.  By the time that game was over, The Linebacker had already racked up a lot of field time, but he headed off to meet his team mates on the 8th grade team. 

The 8th graders were on fire and shut the other team out, 28-0.  They played HARD through all  four quarters.

By the end of the night, Wyatt had racked up 3 really nice tackles and some assists. For no bigger than he is, that kid can hit like a freight train. 

Am I proud of his performance last night?  Of course, I am!  I'm crazy proud of how he played.  But what I'm most proud of is the attitude he showed.  He gave everything he had for both teams.  He didn't look at playing for the younger team as an inconvenience or act as if  it wasn't "his" team so it didn't matter.  He put the good of the teams ahead of himself, and I couldn't be more proud of that. 

He's not the star of the team, he's not the least talented player, but he's a good solid player that tries hard and is dependable.  That's a good place to be, if you ask me.

If he hadn't made one single play, I wouldn't be any less proud of him than I am right now.  He was a true team player, and put a large number of others ahead of himself.  I'm so thankful for that.

It's nice to know that in this world of instant gratification and downright selfishness, there's at least one young person who understands what it is to gain by giving.  That person is my kid.

Yeah, that's my boy!

Me and Samsonite, A Long Sordid Affair

*DISCLAIMER: The term "you" used throughout this entry is a general term, meaning people in general.  No you's were harmed in the writing of this entry.*

I don't take or use words lightly.  I write because it's how I stop and try to look at the big picture.  It's how I lay all the little fragments out, and try to make some sense of them.  Put them in some semblance of order, and try to understand what I'm seeing, feeling or thinking.  It's more of a clinical evaluation, digging for the what, how and why of the thing that's on my mind or in my heart.  It's a venue for coping, for letting off steam, for dealing with whatever happens to be on my mind at the time.

It's of no matter to me if anyone else reads it.  I put it here for me.  If you read it and it makes you think, then that's fine, maybe we all need that little push to look at ourselves once in a while.  I don't know.

I do not set pen to paper with the intention to hurt anyone.  I do not attack and leave your character lying there for dead.  I do not infer to your friends and family, or complete strangers, that you are a despicable soul, or a good for nothing.  I do not belittle and degrade you.  I do not rip you, or your character to shreds, and then act as if you deserved it.

If I reference someone, it's not to call them out, or to point fingers, it's to help ME figure out how to interact with this person.  Or how I can help them, understand them, comfort them, educate them...whatever the case may be.  It's ME trying to deal with something that is frustrating ME.

I don't lie about you.  I don't turn to those I know have a grievance against you and look for justification to make myself feel better.  Why would I?  If I look at the big picture and admit WHY those people aren't in your corner, I'd likely see they aren't the people I want in my corner either.  I don't turn to the dregs to get justification of my thoughts or actions.  I'm turning to MYSELF to figure it out....which is why I write. It's the equivalent of me talking aloud to myself.

I sit over here, deep in my own heart and mind, trying to figure out the where, what and why around me.  It's that simple.  Sorting out MY baggage, digging through it trying to decide what to keep, what to throw away, and what, if any of it, is worth handing down.

Why does it have to be about you?  MY feelings and thoughts are just that...MINE.

MY writing is about ME.  Yes, I do reference people around me (without naming names), but only because my interaction with them affects ME.  The people and events in our lives have an effect on us and I use the writing to sort it all out.  IT'S ABOUT ME, not you.  It's a process I use to evaluate myself.  I'm harder on myself than you could ever be.  I'm working to make me a better me....for me. 

I don't believe in hollow words.  I have no time to give or to receive them. 

My writing is the release I use to cope instead of just letting emotion take the helm.  By writing, I'm able to more calmly think things out, and though I may still feel emotional about the topic, it keeps me from saying or doing things in a rash way.  It usually keeps me from telling you to stick it....usually.

Dad was not good at censoring his mouth.  He'd blow up at you, many times for no real reason at all, then offer another hollow apology.  I can't count the number of times I can remember looking at him thinking "I honestly have NO clue what you're talking about.  What did I do now?"  He'd accuse me of things that I honestly hadn't done, but wouldn't take the time to ask me about it.  He'd just accuse you and judge you guilty, leaving you standing there in shock, just thinking "WTF now?" 

I fight the urge to let my temper explode all the time, and work hard to not perpetuate the curse.  I can't count how many times he'd say something like "It's all my fault. I always screw things up. Blame me.", after realizing that just maybe he had over reacted to some imagined wrong doing.  You can't say it was your fault, in a way that you're turning yourself into the victim.  That means nothing.  You might as well just come out and say "I'm an ass and don't think before I speak, get used to it."

Writing keeps me from saying the first thing that comes to mind.  And those of you that really know me, know that it's hard to tell just what I might say if I don't censor myself.  You know that I rely on humor to cope, and that I tell it like it is.  I have been through a lot in my life already, for shit's sake! Humor is how I survived.  If you don't laugh, you might as well be angry all the time or spend all your time crying over what a victim you are.  I prefer to laugh at it and move on.  It's what helps ME get through all the bullshit.

So before you think this is about you, remember IT'S NOT. It's ME trying to deal with things.  Working out how to handle all the nonsensical bullshit that I've been through and dealt with.  It's me trying to not sit back and play the victim like so many people do nowadays. 

I'm not a drunkard that blames everyone else for my situation.  I'm not some person making really bad life decisions, at an age too young to understand their full consequences.  I'm not feeling insecure about how others view me, or pointing their faults out to hide my own.  I'm not one that's worrying that I have deep dark secrets that will be found out.  I'm not using others or pretending to be someone or something that I'm not. I'm not sitting in judgment of others, as if I've never done wrong.  I know who and what I am, and if you know me at all you do too.

I'm the bitch working hard to figure out more about who I am and what I want.  I'm the sarcastic woman who laughs at herself more than anyone.  I'm the mom trying hard to do better than Dad did. I'm the raging asshole who owns up to her mistakes and her faults.  I'm the girl who loves you with everything she has until you break her trust, then it's gone for good. I'm the giving person who tries to help, without being greedy and seeking personal gain.  I'm the girl who puts her actions out there because she has no hidden agenda, no ulterior motive.  It's pretty transparent, what you see is what you get.  I'm not doing things under the table, worrying that I'll be found out later.  I'm the screwed up chic with more baggage than Samsonite, who is trying to figure out the best way to deal with it all.

I make mistakes, and bad choices, and I own them.  Yep, I did it.  I so just did.

I'm the hard heart who will never let you in again after you mortally wound me.  I have no problem turning the switch off and walking away from you.  I've seen me do it.

That's one trait I can't change.