Tomorrow is looming. My sleep is evading.
And my writing is passive. (On purpose tonight.)
I’ve got a lot of thoughts and no reason to express them.
But my eyes won’t close and my mind isn’t yielding.
A glowing distraction is just what I needed.
Foxy jumps on Seltzer.
Foxy’s only defense is that he cannot contain his enthusiasm for jumping on his brothers when they least expect it.
So Foxy goes into time-out, which he says is BS, but Seltzer says is awesome.
Then Foxy just says fine, whatever–that he’ll just use his time to plot his revenge and bulk up his muscles.
Seltzer asks about witness protection, but knows we don’t run from our problems here.
So Seltzer just sighs and says he’s a lover, not a fighter. His street days are over.
Back in time-out, Foxy forgets why he was mad and takes a nap. Then wakes up and walks out because the door is open.
Seltzer just sighs, again, and says I love you to Foxy.
Foxy says I love you, too; then he lightly jumps on Nacho, who looks at him with dismay and Foxy is reformed. For now.
Adorned in ghoulish fetish, we hunt the night.
We scream, “Stand down, normalcy!
We own this.
Running wild and burning hot, we scavenge for redemption.
We howl into the coldness to fill the emptiness.
“Hide, you rotting enigmas of sanity!
Or suffer our molten presence!”
Our dreams, our minds,
tonight they fly free,
in a full moon sky,
on All Hallows’ Eve.
Two minds. Two hearts.
I’d be comforted to leave this place, this life, knowing that I had carved off, out, all that I could of myself. I am not a martyr but I am a writer. I owe my emotions, my experiences, my observations, and understandings back to the elements of existence. If I am lucky, they will be reincorporated, at some uncalculated-molecular-energetic level, back into the perseverance of life. Words are only whispers in the storm, lost in an echo until the storm becomes a breeze and the poetic hearts can hear again.
I discovered Pinterest a bunch of years ago when I only managed to “pin” a picture of a small bathroom makeover. I didn’t understand Pinterest. All I wanted to do was bookmark a web page, so I left Pinterest alone like a bad outfit.
But then I had my first surgery and recovery took several weeks, so I became a Pinterest-aholic. I finally understood the boards. And how wonderful it was to virtually hoard–everything!
As I started obsessing about recipes on Pinterest, I noticed all these bloggers. WTF? And sometimes they were bragging about the money they were making by blogging. Another WTF? The stay-at-home mommy bloggers really irritated me. Perhaps, it was just my jealousy of their pre-existing financial freedom to stay home. Or even their ability to have kids. Not that I wanted either, but I sort of did. And neither was possible.
So, I studied them and considered creating a non-mommy blog to make money, but I couldn’t do what they did. I couldn’t be so incredibly happy to show off recipes or crafts with such precision. I didn’t want to cater to anyone for ratings. I had a job that already paid the bills. Not a career. Not professional satisfaction, but survival plus my weekends free.
So, I healed from my surgery and went back to work. Then, I had a bigger surgery and more recovery time. This round, I did more Pinterest-ing, but I also discovered WordPress. Whoa! A whole lot of people not just mommy blogging, but EVERYTHING blogging. It was overwhelming. I created a free site. Tried posting. Mostly deleting.
I finally healed and went back to work. I continued creating some occasional posts during my free-time. As time drifted and my interest waned, I just decided…blah. I shelved my WordPress site.
But I was unsettled. I was getting older. I had been cut apart, pieces removed. Soon, I might fully disappear. I wanted to exist before that could occur. I needed to write. And I was kind of lonely within my writing self, so I went back to WordPress where there were so many words and so much to consider.
I restarted my own page, added more posts, but remained hidden for over a year. I’d occasionally make my blog available, then I’d freak out and delete everything, then go hidden again. It was frightening to dip my toes into a community of writers that I wasn’t sure even knew I existed.
Somewhere between then and now, I stopped deleting my posts and resorting to my hiding status. I realized that blogging was a treadmill or an open path. Breaking free of the revolving fear of being seen, read, heard, or even worse, unnoticed was necessary to grow stronger as a writer.
I still cringe when I post anything. It’s frightening to expose any truth, any thought, any failure to the world.
There is not a whole lot of reason for my fear, because I’m not a star blogger, or even a twinkle from a far off galaxy writer.
But I am a writer who just needed to write on something other than a notebook and somewhere other than alone, and WordPress gave me the opportunity. The decision to write is mine.