Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Update: the seed that sprouted Charley and Gina

Strange day.  I worked through a lot today, emotionally.  I finally got an apology from my mom and I know she meant it.  I've had numerous conversations with my mom about this and it always ended differently.  Sometimes she'd say she didn't remember.  Other times she said that she remembered but never imagined that "Dallas" would have the same conversation with me that she had had with my mom.  In the past she refused to apologize because she said she was in no way at fault.  I don't know which is true and I don't really think it matters.  

Today she listened, a lot, to everything I've had on my mind for years.  Today she apologized for what I went through on that day.  Today she called me a writer...

Today she called me a writer...

Today she called me a writer...

She's trying, so I should too.  

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

i want to be a real girl

On Monday evening I went to my cousin's house to raid her closet.  I was going to go to a career fair and wanted to borrow something to wear.  I was knee deep in her closet rifling through all the blouses and I stumbled upon two dresses.  I don't wear dresses.  I used to wear skirts but haven't in years.  Sadly it all connects back to my mother.  Why I punish myself as a symbolic "your opinion doesn't matter" is beyond me?  I've created this shell of a character I show to the world.  People are exposed to pieces of me and I hide the most trivial things.  

I tried on both dresses. And I loved them.  I knew my cousin would never let me borrow them and perhaps that's why I felt comfortable trying them on.  Sure enough, I asked, and she said no.  I took a random blouse and thought about the dress for the next day or so.  I went to the store the next day and browsed skirts and blouses.  I was drawn to the dresses and stared in awe.  The saleslady talked me into trying it on.  I put on the dress and admired myself in the mirror.  I was about to take a picture of myself as the saleslady knocked on the dressing room door to check on me.  I was brought back to reality.  I changed back into my clothes and exited the dressing room.  I really wanted to buy it but I don't think I'd feel comfortable wearing it.  I've dressed in jeans, leggings, and capri's for so long that I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with how dramatically different I'd look.  

I walked to my car and felt a small sense of loss.  I got in the car, took a few deep breaths, and began crying.  I've been incredibly immature for so long that I'm not sure I know how to not be.  I spoke with a friend about this.  Why do I let my mother's comments affect me so deeply?  Why does her opinion matter?  Its very sad.  My mother is so miserable almost all the time.  She puts on a facade of wealth and family; someone to be envied.  She values the opinions of others over everything else.  I need to let go.  I want to wear a dress.  And I want to not let my mother's opinion on the topic affect me.  

Sunday, March 17, 2013

A poem: Moth as a spirit

3/17 1:32pm

I killed a moth the other day
      not on purpose
swatting in the air
      took me over an hour to catch him
flap flap
      we met the night before
he tickled my arm
      I screamed
old coffee cup
      I trapped him
caught his leg
      he didn’t flap anymore :[

I think my spirit animal is a moth 

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

dirty like a whore.

I've been flirting with the idea of placing ads on my blog but I'm not entirely sure how.  It did feel very dirty and cheap to me.   Before I applied for the adsense account through google I wrote this:

Make love to pages, paint them with words. 
Don’t fuck them hard, destroy them, forever tainted.
            Dirty like a whore after she’s turned her first trick.
            I’ve been told it gets easier the second time around.
            I’d prefer to give it away than sell my soul.
            All I need in life is a pen.

It should be noted that it was just after 2:00am and I was having trouble sleeping.  The ads are a moot point now, I was denied the account.  :]  

I'm going to start a second blog with a little more focus.  This will remain my outlet though.


Friday, March 8, 2013

Unsent letters: I said nothing.

I had dinner with some “friends” on Tuesday.  I love them dearly but in conversation they decided to tell me about myself.  I wasn't offended but it did help me come to a few realizations.
            I have a bubble in certain environments that I like to keep intact; it makes me feel safe.  I told them about how uncomfortable I felt when my neighbor’s friend hit on me as I left my apartment.  I was locking my door, my safe place, my room of my own.  He passes behind me and turns to face me as I turn the key to lock up.  I didn't want talk about what he said; I wanted to talk about how I felt.  “That was creepy.” I said.  “I suppose in a different setting I might entertain the idea or attempt to hold a conversation. But, but I was just trying to leave to the store and outside my door, to my apartment, my home… That made me feel unsafe.  It’s weird ya know?”  They laughed.  “No we don’t know.  Listen to her, most girls would smile and say ‘hey’ if that happened and she calls the guy creepy.”  My friend said.  I stayed silent. 
            I tried to tell them about a play I was reading for class.  We were going to discuss Beckett on Wednesday and I was very excited.  Theater is my heart and always will be.  In therapy my counselor told me that it’s better to share exciting news with those that have the capacity to understand it.  Sometimes a great day can shift if you share with the wrong person.  I think that’s why I’m sharing with you.   My class discussion on Endgame was a little lackluster.  I was disappointed.  At least I didn't have to listen to Sparknotes spout off his bullet point list.  He told some outside of class that it wasn't necessary to read any of the material and he used Sparknotes to save time.  That’s depressing.
            Our conversation shifted.  They started talking about setting me up on a blind date.  I said nothing.  It was a little strange to hear them defend their stand on the topic when I hadn't stated an opinion.  It kind of felt like the point when you’re about to say something and people cut you off.  They continue their one sided conversation answering unasked questions.  I didn't know how to tell them that they were way off base.  I said nothing.  They were talking at me as if I had an answer or an excuse for all they had to say.  I said nothing.  “And before you say anything, we’re not trying to be mean, but you’re kind of a know-it-all.”  Said one friend.  The other added, “Yeah you are.”  I smiled and nodded. 
            I audited a theater class on Wednesday morning.  It was lovely to sit and watch.  My old teacher was very sweet and inviting.  I asked two of her students to read through a scene I’d been working on.  It was interesting to watch.  She told me that I was more than welcome to bring any of the material I’d written and have them perform it if I liked.  At the end of class she asked if I could write a monologue for her class to perform in a flag.  I’m not sure if that’s an actual theater term.  A flag monologue, from my understanding, is the same monologue performed by different actors, one right after the other.  I said yes.  The idea of someone bringing my words to life astounds me.  I was a little intimidated but mostly excited. 
            Later in my English class we had our brief discussion on Beckett.  I said something and began with “I think…”  My inner voice was screaming, why did you say ‘I think’ when you know?!?!?!  Half my class turned back and looked at me with an audible gasp.    You are kind of a know-it-all sometimes.  I didn’t take notes because they were useless to me.  It seemed like a horrible oversimplification of the awesomeness that is Samuel Beckett. 
            Last semester in my theater class we performed a monologue called “The Brilliant Speech” in a flag.  I’m not sure of the writer.  I woke up this morning with pieces of it echoing in my head and I started crying.
Don’t you think we slow ourselves down for other people?  Haven’t you ever thought that? What if we never slowed ourselves, never stopped ourselves, allowed resistance?  Could you imagine the light, the velocity we might… I want to be brilliant at at least one thing.  Don’t you want that too?  Don’t you think you could be?  I want to be amazing…(The Brilliant Speech)
I’ve wasted years slowing myself down for others.  I said I think when I knew.  I really like me right now.  I feel like a shitty person because I’m going to separate myself from these “friends” for a while.  I enjoy the company of the new people I’ve met this semester.  It’s fascinating what happens when you open yourself up to the world around you.  You’ll meet resistance from some but be welcomed openly by so many others. 
            I don’t know you that well.  We say hello, goodbye and make small talk on occasion but I find you very impressive.  I genuinely hope you never slow yourself, stop yourself.  Don’t allow resistance.  You are brilliant.  I’m pretty sure you know that but just in case.  You are amazing.  

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Good Catholic Girls: Part 1

Forgive me father for I have sinned.

I can’t really describe what the ritual of going to church brought into my life.  It made me a part of something bigger than myself.  As a kid I’d kneel in pew and hold my hands together in prayer.  I’d bury my eyes in my palms and I’d start to see pretty patterns and stars.  It was my own personal kaleidoscope behind my eyes. 
I was baptized as a baby.  In second grade I got my first communion, which was preceded by my first confession.  This is when the guilt started I think.  I started at St. Joseph’s Catholic School in sixth grade.  While my friends had six classes a day, I was stuck in a single classroom with the same students all day.  As a sixth grader I wore a button up blouse, green plaid pleated skirt, and a Girl Scout style green tie.  This was very similar to fifth grade with the only exceptions being the uniform and religion studies.  I went to years of Sunday school and now I had to learn about religion for an hour a day. 
Irredeemable sinner
            One day my teacher was out sick and the school wasn't able to find anyone to substitute our class.  The principal opted to substitute for our teacher, she had taught sixth grade for years before being promoted to principal.  That days lesson was supposed to cover the importance of confession and the effect that sin has on the soul.  The principal drew a large blob on the blackboard and said, “this is your soul.”  She shaded in a small portion of the blob and said, “This is what happens when you sin.  Sin is like a mark or stain on your soul.”  Then she erased the shaded portion leaving the untainted blob and said, “When you go to confession and you’re forgiven, you’re sins are erased from your soul and you’re clean.”  A student raised their hand and said, “But what happens if you don’t go to confession, what happens to your soul then?”  The principal shaded a portion again, and then another portion, then another until about a third of the blob was dirtied with chalk.  “This is your soul when you don’t go to confession.  The sins keep piling up dirtying a new part of your soul.”  The principal erased the dirtied portion of the blob and a piece of the blob with it.  “When you sin repeatedly and you don’t go to confession you’re soul keeps getting dirty until eventually you lose a portion of your soul.  And if you still don’t go to confession your soul will continue to dirty with each sin and eventually you won’t have a soul.” 
            So there I was at 11 years old, without a soul.