It has been a few my friends. The last pages I wrote were just a trickle and a tease. I can't force the words when they stop flowing, that is for sure. At first it didn't bother me too much. I couldn't really do too much sitting at the computer and forget typing more than a couple of sentences. 39 unpublished things sit in wait.
Two more surgeries and the readaptation to life with new issues, one of them being the inability to sleep for more than a year, except for naps on the couch. Good times. (Sarcasm, for those of you who don't instantly recognize it, or know me very well yet.) Arms that stop working whenever they feel like, sometimes both at once and lets not even talk about that lovely thing I used to do - walking endless steps everywhere.
Today, in the shower, where I do most of my best thinking and problem solving, my brain opened up some new, old doors and gave me a gander of some of the reality it put away from my child brain so long ago. Stepping through that door of memories reminded me of some wonderful and awesome memories and some reminders of my wee little self and those other little selfs around me. Then and now.
It also started this dialogue that didn't shut off with the water. I am happy that the flow of my fingers on the keyboard is smooth and easy. Almost normal, like riding a bike. So my writing isn't a short story. My story is the whole and total (within limits) picture of myself. I got stumped when someone suggested I write from a fictional standpoint, but I really only like to read fiction and reality is where I live and work best.
Writing the blog began as a challenge for myself to open up and document times as I learned how to be open and engaged in social settings. Over the past 4 years writing and life both had gotten challenging. I felt vulnerable and naked and not at all comfortable with where I was when I stopped writing. I had a vouyer who had invaded my life, broken into the castle walls and did some damage. I didn't feel safe continuing to feed his desires with my writing, allowing him to still know me in any manner. I was also threatened but that is just words on paper and in my ear. No big deal. Life goes on.
I stepped out of the embers of the glow that I had bravely stepped into. Then I stepped back through into the darkness. I am more comfortable in the darkness. It takes less work and I needed some healing, spiritually and physically.
I have missed the narrative of endless thoughts and words filling my head, composing musical symphonies as I walked down the street, traded in for walking in the supermarket). Although I never did learn how to play more than Mary Had a little lamb on two instruments, walking down the streets as I beebopped through my days. I am adapting to this new set of realities. I am comfortable with myself enough and realized today that I just don't give a fuck what anyone on the entire planet thinks.
Judge me if you must. You can't be a harder judge than the lady that raised me, or myself for that matter. I am who I am and I think that is in part because those darn Nuns in the hospital where I was born too early prayed too good and too hard, for what do dedicated Nuns do? I know they would not be happy to know all the times throughout the years that I wished that I had just died instead of having to fake strength, stupidness and a handful of bad decisions when I couldn't think straight and didn't have guidance from anyone but children and people I paid to listen in order to keep my sanity. In reality, I know the Nuns wouldn't hate me. I know they would pray even harder for me.
So, five minutes til dinner and a bit of fresh and easy words on the page. Read, edited and re read as my lovely Marguerite has left this plane and cannot point out my strengths or weaknesses. For you my dear cousin, I will try to find that book. I hope you are happy with the page...every journey begins with one step or in my case a page at a time.
