“I could be rich if someone paid me for every thought of “I could make that.”
If I had actually made it, I could be rich.
It’s a lose-lose here in Wendy World.”
This is my current Facebook status. I tend to work my damn-dest(?) to avoid cliche’ phrases when I write. I have noticed this about myself quite often lately.
For instance, while typing the above status, I almost typed:
“If I had a penny for everytime…”
“On the other hand”
Instead, I “Steered Clear” (See? The cliche’ monster almost got me again!). Ahem, Instead I pulled away from the programmed thought and put some extra thought into it and came up with a little diddy that I am quite proud of. (Obviously, since I’ve shared it here on my oh-so “Personal”–for all the internet world to see–blog)
I used to write spiral notebooks full of poetry (almost typed “shit-ton of poetry”…then I thought…hmm, that visual is nasty. Exactly how can I describe HOW MUCH poetry I ACTUALLY wrote?) Ahh…I regress….AHEM Hem HEM…..
I used to write spiral, notebooks full of poetry. I wrote mostly while anguishing over the fact that I was a teenager without a boyfriend, or any admirers what-so-ever. I wrote intensely when infatuated with a new crush. I labeled who I was thinking of while writing the poem by putting their initials in the upper right-hand corner of the poem so that I could recall it later…or maybe so that I could include their name secretly on the page in code?
While writing these poems, which I now look back on as a sort of diary entry, I’d type these cliche’ phrases and statements and think “That is boring. That’s not me. What do I really mean to say here? How can I describe what I am feeling without writing like everyone else?”
I often listened to influencial bands and artists like:
I listened to them on my portable off-brand “Walkman” CD player. I wore headphones. I burned scented candles. I turned off the lights and dwelt in my cave. I thought for hours about one sentence. I wrote KICK ASS poetry. Really. I know it is mine and I’m an egotistical bitch for saying that about my own creation, but I’m proud of that damn poetry.
The poetry of my adolescence is dark and descriptive. It occasionally rhymes in A/B pattern.
I would sit and rhyme words in my head until I came up with a pattern that worked.
“His eyes are tattered switchplates, turning me on”– (Totally just made that up)
On, gone, fawn, dawn, lawn, phone, shone….
I would rhyme words until I found a connection to the rhyme.
“Painting scattered numbers, a light that is not dawn”
(Totally made up that second line too).
I miss writing like that. It comes out ever-so often in something as god-awful as a Facebook status. It is then that I realize how I may just NEED to write. I started this blog without a steady reason why. Ideas churning ’round about how I should find something that I believe in to write about. Instead, I’ve found that this blog has become an outlet for me to write experiences to better figure out who the hell I am as a person.
I’ve been slowly ‘soul-searching’ for the past year or so. My husband triggered a lot of it. He’d ask questions like “Do you really think that, or is that your Mom’s opinion talking?” At first, I’d get pissed off. “OF COURSE I THINK THAT, I SAID IT, DIDN’T I??????” But, the more I began to dwell on it, the more I figured out that…..shit….he is right. That is a hard thing to accept. Now, I am to the point where I can catch myself when I begin to talk via my upbringing. I speak words that are Sooooooooo not Zen. It’s an ugly bug that needs to be expelled from my belly button like the ‘bug’ in the Matrix car scene (My husband writes a lot about The Matrix on his blog, “Epiphany Now”–there’s your hidden plug, baby 🙂
Anyhow….the more I come to terms with why I am the way I am, why my defensive thoughts always kick in first, why I can’t process words verbally as fast as I can speak them…the more I figure that I should probably keep this blog and sort it out here. First for me, then for you, the reader.
One flaw of mine that I have pretty much squashed like a bug in baby fingers (my son picked up and squashed his first insect today) is the “people pleaser” that I had become. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings….I didn’t want anyone to think ill of me…I didn’t want to say anything stupid and come across as a moron. PHEW! What a great thing to purge. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooOOOOooooooo healthy to get rid of that one. I can’t say it enough. Part of being a people pleaser is worry. I’m not completely purged of that beast yet, but I am beginning to think that it is hanging on by a little chicken bone tendon. (not the cliche’ thread).
Looking forward to what new discoveries about myself may appear to me through my writing. Feels good.