Sunday, February 20, 2011

I Should be Working

I know I should be working on my writing. If I don't write, I will never get published, but I have dificulties focusing. Too many potential distractions in my life.
I have vowed to myself, in this my 50th year on the planet, that I have goals that MUST be obtained. I may be setting myself up for colossal failure, like that is anything new to me.
Goal One: I will get published this year. I have made this promise too many times over the last few years. It seems as if every year as my birthday rolls past I tell myself, "This is THE year. The year I will get published." I'm sick and tired of letting myself down on this one. Too many good stories have languished in my computer until catastrophic failure has lost them to me forever. This is no one's fault but my own. My own lack of self-importance, self-confidence, self-esteem. The crippling thought that I am not good enough. The panic at the thought of any criticism. Criticism that will crush my soul and what scrap of confidence in my skills that I may have scraped up from the bottom of my sense of self. I have to force this issue, despite my abject terror at the thought of failure, or of success. Can anyone understand that behind the facade of confidence lurks that 4th grade kid that stood outside of the classroom door for half an hour, terrified of the attention that would be focused on her as she walked into class late, panic making her stand frozen in the hallway as moments ticked past and the anxiety level reached epic proportions. Can anyone understand that fear who has not experienced it first hand? I think not. For most it is merely an abstract thought, a vague understanding of what "anxiety" really means.
Okay, enough of that pity-party.
Goal Two: I need to get my health under control. In other words, I need to get my weight under control. I know most who look at me wouldn't give it too much thought, but I think if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by this time next year, it will never leave. I will be doomed to gaining a few pounds a year until, by the time I hit 80 I will weigh 300 pounds. The thought sickens me. I wish I had the figure of an adolescent boy. I wish I could pass myself off as a totally androgynous, non curvaceaous, person. I want broad shoulders, flat stomach, good pecs, and rippling muscles. The rippling muscles are there, they just hide under a layer of fat. Try as I might, I can't quite be happy with that.
Goal Three: I want a house of my own. I am tired of renting. Tired of my money paying someone else's mortgage payment. I want my acre or two. I don't care what the house is like, I would live in a tent if the property was decent enough. I don't want/need much, just some farmable space of my own. A few fruit trees would be nice though.
Three goals, one year to achieve them. I want to think that these are all obtainable goals, individually and as a whole. No one can do this for me, I must do it myself. Again.
Someday I would love to be able to turn the reins over to someone else, even for just a little while. I get tired of being the sole traveler on this voyage sometimes. Solitude is all good and well, but even I can wish that I didn't have to do it by myself ALL the time.
But... I have myself, I need no one else.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Writer's Block; a War of Selves

I have been finding an inability to delve into my writings of late, a writer's block, chronic distraction, winter depression. Whatever the popular label, I know the causes, but don't know what to do with them.
The easiest explanation, least offensive and most generic would be to say it is simply writer's blcok. But this is too simple an explanation. What is causing the blockage? What deep-rooted angst is preventing the flow of words, the formation of storylines and character development? It is not simple block. It is a deep rooted struggle of self. Or should I say "selves?"
That is the crux; a war of selves. The self I show to all who know me is at war with the self that is truely me, the self I show only to me. Why do I keep my true self from the eyes of friends and family? Because I know that many would not be accepting of the Me that is truely me.
Hell, most can't understand my desire to be alone, by myself, solitary, a hermit if you will. Few can understand that I really do prefer my own company, that I would rather face the world alone, that I don't need a life partner, a BFF, or even a friend with benefits. I have myself, I need no one else. Other's find this attitude to be hostile and "just not right." They all seem to think that a desire for solitude is abnormal, and I must need anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds. Why? Why medicate away a vital, core aspect of my personality that I am comfortable with, just because it makes other's uncomfortable? I do not live my life to impress, please or pacify. I am trying to live my life as what it is: Mine.
Another warring aspect, which may be at the center of my desire and preference for solitude, is my left of norm gender identity. Yes, I am female. Yes, I am a mother (and a damned excellent mother). Most would identify me as straight, normal woman. Some who know another side of me might identify me as bisexual female, since I can see the beauty in male or female. But what no one knows (or understands) is my own identification as very gender neutral. Very Neutral. Not even androgynous. But Neutral. In my mind, if I do try to label myself, the best I can come up with is "Tomboy."
I am a Tomboy. I like bugs, rocks and dirt, and my dogs. I wear Levi's and Converse All-Stars. I don't think about sex any more now than I did whan I was eleven years old. And when I was eleven I liked bugs, dirt, and dogs, and wore Levi's and Converse. I feel as though I have time-warped past the 38 years that encompassed my adolescence, teen years, 20's, motherhood, marriage, and divorce. I feel as if that time has fallen away, returned my body to me, for my own use, for my own style. I don't want to be seen as a sexual, sensual, feminine person. I want people to see that I am just me, in my Levi's and sneakers, walking my dogs, looking at bugs and rocks, wishing I could escape the world and be a hermit.
Is that asking too much? Is it too much to expect that people could believe that I am a non-sexual Tomboy? I almost wish that I was the 11 year old again, with that reckless abandon and lack of responsibility. I know my friends and family might be appalled at these ramblings, dismayed with my "abnormality." They may not understand, and many would scoff and think I was being dramatic or just a little crazy.
Crazy? Yes, maybe. I do know that much of the time I do feel that my sanity rides a fine edge that overlooks the abyss, but I have become familiar with the abyss, it is my abyss, and I do not fear it. At times I embrace the abyss, revel in the dark side of life. At other times the abyss overwhelms me, and at these times I have found myself out in the rain, raging against the world, rejecting the world and all of it's complicated relationships. For now, I am creating this blog, to share my true self, to walk the edge of the abyss and know I can find my balance.