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2003-01-07 - 7:03 p.m.
Over the past couple months I have done a lot of very fragmented thinking.
Every day spirals of thought twisted through my head, never quite coming together, but
there never the less, making their little circles through my mind, disturbing the normal pace
of my thought process....the go to work, be in waitress mode, go to gym, come home and
write thing, very mundane but also very effective. Instead, lately I’ve been finding
myself very distracted and fragmented and even a bit of an emotional, girlie wreck. It’s quite a task to even get ready for work in the morning because
I can’t keep focused long enough to do anything. But...in the past couple weeks there
have been events, realizations and a final culmination of my distraction in form of a
complete rage that curdled my blood and finally set my thoughts on a straight line of
thought.
I know two things.
I know I am in love with this boy and want nothing more than to have a wild and
crazy romance with him, a rock concert so to speak, in which all emotion, all desire, all
fantasies are laid directly on the stage and let loose. It occurred to me at a concert this
past fall that I wanted a romance like that. I am envious of musicians, particularly
vocalists who write lyrics because they can send an emotion plunging through a crowd,
make hearts pound, make bones rattle. I want a romance like that, I want my heart to
reverberate with emotion, I want my bones to resonate...So, I know how I feel about him
and I intend to give him a rock concert...whether he feels the same about me and
reciprocates the act...that is to be seen, but I KNOW that I need to, at least once in my
life, be vulnerable and see where it takes me.
I also know that I need to do something with my life. I am nearing thirty and I need
to know soon what the hell I am doing. I need to take a dive into scary, untreaded waters
for a while. I need to make sure I CAN write instead of just saying that I am going to
SOMEDAY be a writer. What if I wasted all this time thinking that someday I would
write that great American novel and I never do, or worse, what if I set out to write it at
age forty and realize I have not one iota of talent and I am stuck being a diner waitress for
the rest of my life? I need to do this now, I need to KNOW because if I don’t have it in
me I need to find something else to do because I CANNOT be a waitress any longer. So I
am taking two months off work. I am just going to stop. I am going to sequester myself
and I am going to write.
And so that is that. Essentially I have decided to stop being so safe....just for a
time...and let it all out there. It’s a tactic I have never tried before. I’ve been safe since I
was eighteen. I’ve taken no chances, I’ve jumped off no bridges...I’ve remained stagnant
and safe for way too long and it has gotten me no where. I have nothing to show for safe,
stable and responsible except a house that is in a state of disrepair and six cats (who I
wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, if there is one thing I am glad for in my years of
stability it is my cats). Nothing else except I have probably read more than 1500 books in
the past ten years. That’s something I guess.
Sigh. |
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