June 18, 2012
Life Lesson #1,437: Here’s the thing… sick kiddos and hellacious work-related stress are– shockingly!– not conducive to creativity in blogging…
…Half a mo’, Alli has rushed into my room to pitch story ideas at me! Honestly! I am not even joking! How fortuitous! Or is this serendipity? No, no, I will stand by fortuitous! Mostly because I am too lazy to look it up but also because I am pretty sure I’m right. I’m almost always right. Ask TGIM. He’ll tell you.
Oh! Oh! Here’s my opportunity to do something i’ve always wanted to do– live blogging! Fantastic. And we’re off.
Ah, okay, so the first idea, oh yes, I see, it involves young children–twins, I believe–who have the ability to control fire and water. Huh. Solid idea. I say, “Oh, like the Wonder Twins!” and then I correct myself, “No, NOT like the Wonder Twins! They were water and animals. Duh?”
Alli doesn’t pick up on my pop culture reference. I find that incredibly sad and somewhat unsettling. What kind of crazy world are we living in now? A world of children who have never experienced the joys of Saturday morning cartoons, that what kind!
However, I just barely call out “Wonder Twin powers, ACTIVATE!” before she is peppering me with her back-up ideas. OH EM GEE, she has BACK-UP ideas!
I ask her to give me time to catch up with her and she agrees but she is bouncing on the bed next to me, her excitement too wiggly and giddy to hold in. I’m a little tired just looking at her, truth be told. And there’s this feeling building inside me. I’m not quite sure, but I think it may be… shame. Shame! Here I am, sulky and idealess, blogging mojo on the fritz and whatnot, and my daughter swooshes into my room, literally bouncing with ideas! Literally! With all these ideas! Just bouncing on my bed! (My daughter, not the ideas. In case you thought there were actually ideas bouncing on my bed. Which would be very Sesame Street and weird.)
Oh, dang, okay she’s moving on to the backup ideas now (yes, that’s shame all right…)
So if the twin story doesn’t pan out (“That’s crazy talk!” says I) she will write the story of two orphaned children who are raised by a pack of lions (“Pride,” I say, but she is lost in the moment so I drop it for now), and the other is about five teenagers who live in a world with monsters in it, and they’ve been trained to fight them.
Good LORD. I just suggested she call that last one Monster Ninjas… which I think very clearly makes my initial point for me– you know, of the total non-conduciveness going on ’round here? Because, oh! The shame!
May 28, 2012
So many instances in my life can be summed up with some words of wisdom from an old episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Like right now. Here I am again, at the ol’ blog-a-rooski and I like it here, but people are starting to wonder why I’m here so much, like, what am I doing here, I haven’t been here forever and suddenly I’m always hanging around and it’s weird because I can’t really explain that I just need to be here. Just hanging around and whatnot.
It’s like when Ms. Calendar notices that Buffy and the Scooby Gang are always hanging out at the school library, and she’s all, “You again? Huh. You kids really dig the library…” and Xander smoothly replies, “Reading makes our…speaking… English good!”
That’s how I feel right now. Because why am I always hanging around here?
Writing makes my speaking stories good.
May 22, 2012
Honestly. I’m not going to be That Person. You know the one. The one who posts something– anything, really– at his or her blog simply to check it off some mental (or actual) To Do List or whatever. Because clearly that type of quantitatively-driven, wooly-minded thinking only robs me of the fullness of the blogging experience and stuff. Otherwise it’s like, “Sayonara, spontaneity!” and totes all “Hello, mediocrity!” So I’m absolutely not going to be That Person.
Nope. That would be silly.
May 21, 2012
Now I’ve always heard you need to repeat a task for approximately twenty-one days to condition a habit. So here I am, five (week)days in at DWM, and I’m not about to let a little thing like writer’s block, AKA sleep deprivation/exhaustion, (also) AKA Fear of Sucking at This, stop me from conditioning my blogging habit!
But here’s the thing… I’m in a funk.
I know, right?! Now don’t misunderstand, there ARE thoughts being thunk. Yes indeedy. But there is definite funkage going on here. Funk-o-ramma. Feeling funky! Funk! (SNL? Richmeister? The Copy Guy? Anyone? Anyone? Dude, I’M OLD!) Not to mention the fact that there, unfortunately, do not seem to be enough hours in my day to plunk out said thoughts being thunk… it’s a funk…
Aaaaand now I seem to have gone all Dr. Seuss on your behinds. How incredibly lame of me.
Anyway, on one level, the rational one, I understand this happens to everyone, that everyone hits a funk, and it’s perfectly normal to experience a momentary lapse of confidence in my utter awesomeness. But on another level, I just feel sad sometimes. Weary. Depressed. So totally lacking in the awesomeness. Awesomeless.
And because I’ve spent years–years!–compartmentalizing and burying the myriad thoughts I used to express so freely at my blog, now that I’m here again and it’s TIME, I’m just feeling a teensy bit giddy, disoriented, a little off-kilter, like, “Whoa, well, let’s stop this crazy whirligig of fun! I’m dizzy!”
Because it’s swirling and rolling–the fanatical TV snark, the parenting moments, the random introspection, the questionable political commentary, and, yes, even the occasional emotional honestly– and I am so totally out of practice and it’s all rushing, no, surging at me in this giant wave of WORDS and ideas and I know it’s just a matter of time before I blurt out something awesome. Just unleash it into the blogosphere. Let it explode out of me the way occasional bouts of introspective verbal diarrhea have a way of doing at the most embarrassing times.
And, wow. There just is not enough “ew!” in the world for THAT mental image (sorry). I see that now. But my point is this… this funk? No WAY can it withstand the awesome power of my imminent verbal explosion, which I don’t think I could stop even if I tried. Which I won’t be. Trying to stop, that is. Not likely.
So I’m breaking up my I’m SO Not Awesome At ALL pity party and giving myself a figurative “Get it together, fool!” slap across the face. It’s time to take an interest in those who weren’t on the invite list to my party of one. TGIM. My kiddos. My family. My friends.
Because even in the depths of self-pity I understand that while I may have doubts, they don’t need any kind of proof of my awesomeness. They see it in me, the awesomeness, or see the lack thereof, yet they love me. Unconditionally. Yup. Verbal diarrhea and all.
And that? Is totally awesome.
So I promise here and now… when I shake off this funk and gather the thoughts I’ve thunk, the keys I will plunk!
(My apologies to Dr. Seuss.)
May 14, 2012
It’s time to start this DWM bad-boy up again. So serious. So SO serious!
Because not only do I totally miss the interaction with my blogosphere friends (good times, those…), I NEED this space. I need this outlet!
I admit, I thought jumping into blogging again would be like riding a bike. No matter how many years pass, you just hop on and pedal like crazy, and ZOOOOM, off you go! A blur of blonde curls and pink pedal pushers, with sparkly iridescent ribbons streaming from the handlebars… You know, like that.
Turns out? Not so much.
I keep having these total blog-perfect moments, you know the ones, and they are screaming, “Blog me! Good LORD, what are you waiting for?!” and I’m like, “Okay! Maybe I will! Shut up now!” and they are all, “Fine, I will!” and I’m like, “Fine!” and then we kiss and make up because, honestly, it’s silly to fight with those moments because they are only trying to HELP.
But the moments pass and I can’t get them back because that’s what moments DO. They pass. They fade. I totally missed them, and since time travel is not yet possible, I’m going to take a stand and say this is not good.
So, like I said, I need Desperate Working Momma. Like, a LOT. So we need to put our differences behind us, my blog and I. Because while I don’t wish to be inscrutable, ofttimes I am exactly that.
For instance, when “things” are going on (you know the things, those sad or confusing or downright hurtful things?) and I am faced with two choices– to express myself in a direct manner or in a humorous, playful light– I inevitably choose to joke. It’s what I DO. I laugh, I joke, I play it off like it ain’t no thang, but it is TOO a thang–it is!–a whole big thang! Whether life brings me gifts of joy neatly wrapped with sparkly ribbons or bitch-slaps me and hands me bitter disappointment, I laugh and laugh and laugh. Then snort and laugh some more.
(ASIDE: I once said that my youngest has inherited this trait from me; she is the one who when she falls and hurts herself will more times than not jump up from the spill, all, “I’m all right! I’m okay! That kind of tickled, actually!” even though we all know it hurt her and there are tears welling up and she is just saying it didn’t hurt so everyone will leave her alone so she can escape and cry in peace. I think in a way we are trying to let the world know, “You can’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I laugh at pain! Ha ha!”)
So I’m silly and whimsical and manic and almost always utterly tongue-in-cheek, and though I quite often express exactly what I am truly feeling, it is more often than not hidden away in evasive verbiage. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, if you will.
This can (and has) caused people to misunderstand what I am feeling, to doubt my sincerity, to think I am stronger or more resilient than I really am, and while it may sound counterintuitive, I’m starting to think that encouraging this impression may actually be worse then admitting I feel pain.
So (even though I know that poignancy and humor are not mutually exclusive) there are times I wish I could say what I really mean without resorting to silliness and feigned unconcern. To be starkly honest, to lay out my heart in words so clear you could actually feel it beating if only you listened closely enough, and then you would KNOW. You would feel me. Hear me.
Which brings me back to why I need Desperate Working Momma.
Because once upon a time it provided a genuine venue for me. Carefully woven into the haze of my sardonic humor, you could sometimes catch a true glimpse of my life–my family’s life–spilling out in my writing. If you were paying attention, of course, because truth? Is scary, y’all. Duh.
And honestly, I think there were times that my blog posts truly said something that was slow and thoughtful and sometimes even deeply affecting. Like Lost in Translation, without the icky Bill Murray May-December romance part. Because gross. And I need that honesty. I need people to see it. To know me. I think, maybe, I’m finally tired of hiding.
Okay, now I’m bringing it home.
Finally, there is this. The incredible, surprising thing I realized about blogging here is that capturing those moments and writing about them allowed me to enter imaginatively into my own life, as if it were someone else’s, and learn truth about myself, about my life, that I couldn’t– or wouldn’t– see before.
And my family and friends, looking in, sometimes experienced these rare “Ah-ha!” moments with me. And maybe–perhaps!–learned their own truth.
Which, neat, huh?