This was written almost two months ago. I have cleaned up some of the language, grammar, and punctuation but for the most part it stands intact and in raw form.
June 29, 2010
This is my first attempt to compose 2500+ words a day. I'm not even sure what 2500 words looks like at this point but I guess I'll find out (sooner, rather than later, hopefully). But, wait, that sounds like I'm treating this like a chore. In reality, if I am a writer (like I hope to be), I should treat the 2500+ words a day that I put together and arrange as an artist would treat his masterpiece. Every stain, color, and blip on the canvas is a joy to place and has its meaning and purpose. So, not only should 2500+ be something I look forward to but I should also treat it as a necessary component of me being a writer, an artist with words. So, this should be a pleasant experience, right?
I can't look at it as an exercise or a 'task' in carrying out my 'job'. Besides, tasks are menial and jobs are limiting. This 2500+ should be a pleasant ritual that I treat as sacred and a purposeful element to my growth as a writer.
For days I've debated how to actually compose this, what seems an enormous, amalgam of words. Should I try to do it on the laptop? Should I do it the 'old-fashioned' way and use a pen and paper and actually write in a notebook (the purple one with the nicely perforated edges in case I want to dismember the notebook)?
I also deliberated over what time of day should this be done. Should I do it in the morning after I've had breakfast and before 'The View' (yes, I still have my priorities)? Or, should I do it when I seem to be composing junk in my brain? As it turns out, that time is usually 11:30 p.m. when I've just shut off the television or dozed off and am trying to clear my head for a long, peaceful sleep. This seems the most inconvenient time but, let me tell you, I compose a lot of good shit in my brain. The problem, thus far, is it's still in my brain! I always want to write it down but then I hem and I haw and I talk myself out of it. Most times the next morning when I revisit what my 'brilliant' thoughts were the night before I am most embarrassed at my honesty and mostly, corniness. Sometimes it is too angry and raw and emotes things that should be kept to myself. But, I realize, this is inevitably the problem!
I've got all this stuff on my brain and it is messing up my ability to function properly. It has been sitting dormant for years but like a volcano it is ready to erupt at any moment. And, yes, there are days when I experience spillage of the brain. It comes out hot, mean, and aggressive. There is a lot of pent-up anger in there. Raw emotion and garbage that has been packed away like a sardine for years. And let me tell you, the shit is getting ready to smell. I mean really stink up the place. In reality, it already has. I've stuffed all the emotional crap deep in the file cabinets of my brain and it is time to purge them files, baby.
The purpose of consuming food is to give the body energy. But, not only have I lost sight of that, I've used food to bury the pain of my past. Yes, people, I am a morbidly obese, middle-aged woman with many pounds of baggage, really garbage, stuffed in her brain. I'm ready to explode and splatter this stuff all over the pavement. And, if that happens, the clean-up will last for days, even weeks, like the recent Icelandic volcanic eruption that disrupted airline transportation throughout Europe. Full-functioning will literally stop if I don't release these toxins. There is so much shit to tell. So much emotion to confront. So many opinions to display (without criticisim, well, okay, there will be criticism but I should be at the point where I don't care). The need is so big that the repercussions should be the least of my worries! This is where I start chipping away all the mildew, moss, and muck that have accumulated over the years to reveal my true identity, my authentic self.
So much new age, self-discovery crap is being talked about (especially on Oprah) and it seems women my age are eating this shit up. Yes, me too, I confess. But I think there is something of value to it.
As women we get so caught up in our roles in society that as we grow and mature and put on the many different hats that we do in life (daughter, wife, mother, co-worker, friend, neighbor, volunteer, niece, grand-daughter, cousin, lover, patient, etc.) we lose sight of the person we started out as. The little girl, sitting in her bedroom, dreaming of what her future will be. What will fulfill her? What makes her excited, energized, and ready to take on the world? What gives her the confidence to be herself and declare publicly what she wants to be when she grows up?! Sadly, most of us have lost that innocence and feeling that we can conquer the world and do our 'thing' that gives us joy (with no public criticism). We get sucked into performing these roles up to societies' standards and we lose our authentic self!
I can still visualize myself as a little girl. Sitting on the floor in my bedroom. With the radio on as a background inspiration and sketchpad resting on my bent knees, I dreamed of the day that I could be an artist. Free to express myself in any medium whether it be water color, pencil, crayon, chalk, paint, or pastels and to depict my version, my vision, of what inspired me. (Okay, I just cheated and checked my word count and I'm at: 989; not bad for a first-timer).
But, that can't really be what your authentic self is, at least for me. It has to have some visual element but I'm sure there is much more involved into what makes you you or in my case, me me. In order to get all of the pieces of the puzzle, which I visualize as strewn about in the files of my brain, I have to look through each file and analyze and digest the contents. These puzzle pieces of me are the morals of my experiences. For instance, how I digested what happened to me and the resulting end piece which, as you and I both know, is excrement, i.e. shit. I guess what I'm trying to do, in the words of my favorite college roommate is to, 'own my shit'! What I'll try to do is examine my experiences, from my perspective, and figure out what I learned, how I grew, and how that defined me as a person. I'm not sure if it's possible to be objective since it is my memory, my experience, and my interpretation of what happened. Most people would like to see or hear both sides of the story so that they could make their own judgment (ooh, I hate that word) or a better word might be assessment? Nah, I hate that one too. Well, you get the picture.
I guess my experiences are not necessarily for you to judge or label or categorize. After all they are MY experiences and I keep them filed in my own damn filing cabinet using my own damn system, thank you very much. What will you get out of this purging of my files? Not sure at this point. Maybe a better understanding of yourself. Or maybe we shared a similar experience and my coping is different or the same as yours? Maybe it will open your eyes to your authentic self?
Anyhow, the point of this is selfishly, yes, for me to re-realize and get in touch with my true identity. The one that I was born with but that got bombarded and clouded and lost with the every day shit of life. (1353)