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Too many words in my head right now, I'm spilling some out.
I've been thinking about my life and some of the choices I've made as of late. Ever since I was a kid, it has seemed obvious to me (and my teachers at little kid school) that writing was my talent. Some people have lots of natural talents, and then other things they get good at after years of practice. Me, I pretty much just had words. And for whatever reason, my mother was terrified of my talent with words. I suspect now it's due to her being so entrapped in lies, so much so that she hung them all over the house.
Even though I was told I was good at writing and wanted to "practice" all the time, I was pushed into other things that my mother thought were more important, marketable, or just things she had wanted to do as a girl. So I got sidetracked into ballet class, Girl Scouts, sewing, embroidery, jazz-tap, (I can still tap dance, I just don't have any shoes), Catholicism, singing, teaching, and a bunch of other shit I had very little interest in. I found out years later that the reason my mom wanted me to teach is because my aunt is a teacher and because I had said I wanted to teach when I was five or six. The point it, I somehow forgot that I actually wanted to BE a writer. The only writing I took the time to do outside of school and hired work was when I had tons of emotional turmoil and no other way to release it. (As for teaching, I think that's what a lot of would-be writers do when they can't make a living writing; but I don't have the patience for it. I could teach college maybe, but teaching impressionable kids would not be a good gig for me.)
Then when I "grew up" (if indeed one could use the phrase grown up to describe me) my sense of self worth was so low I wanted to acquire a husband and family immediately. Not only did I have a desperate need to show the world that I was NOT, in fact, so fat and ugly that no one would ever love me; but I also wanted to become a mother so everyone would see how much better I was at it than my own mother. Looking back on that now, it seems pretty stupid. Well, maybe that's a bit too harsh, but certainly an illogical choice and one that plenty of people fall into.
I suspect that deep down the reason I never settled for an unacceptable marriage was that I knew it wouldn't work. I'm a pretty unsufferable bitch when I'm unhappy. That's probably because I have not learned to set boundaries properly. Like when I'm in a horrible relationship, I don't do the breaking up. Instead I become so impossible that no one in thier right mind would stay with me...that way I can pretend like it's all out of my hands. It's really a very good thing that I didn't have a child 10 or 15 years ago when I first wanted one. That kid would be fucked UP right about now.
Anyway, this is getting long. I just wanted to point out that I am refocusing on writing and being a writer. I haven't decided yet if one becomes a writer by getting their work read by strangers, or if one simply needs to write. But I'm sick of not writing, and I'm continuing my efforts to view life in new ways. It amazes me how many things I heard as a child that I still accept as fact, even though I know intellectually that my childhood was fucked, and the friends and family I had back then were (for the most part) selfish, spiteful, unbalanced people. The best revenge (if indeed, I still need revenge) is not becoming rich, famous, or better than them. It is simply to live and be contented with myself; and to enjoy my own company enough to be able to spend time developing my talents and improving my overall self.
Corny as hell? Too bad, it's MY journal.
That said, I'm going to do something very un-Wednes like this afternoon.
Oprah is coming on, and I'm going to watch.
Even though I was told I was good at writing and wanted to "practice" all the time, I was pushed into other things that my mother thought were more important, marketable, or just things she had wanted to do as a girl. So I got sidetracked into ballet class, Girl Scouts, sewing, embroidery, jazz-tap, (I can still tap dance, I just don't have any shoes), Catholicism, singing, teaching, and a bunch of other shit I had very little interest in. I found out years later that the reason my mom wanted me to teach is because my aunt is a teacher and because I had said I wanted to teach when I was five or six. The point it, I somehow forgot that I actually wanted to BE a writer. The only writing I took the time to do outside of school and hired work was when I had tons of emotional turmoil and no other way to release it. (As for teaching, I think that's what a lot of would-be writers do when they can't make a living writing; but I don't have the patience for it. I could teach college maybe, but teaching impressionable kids would not be a good gig for me.)
Then when I "grew up" (if indeed one could use the phrase grown up to describe me) my sense of self worth was so low I wanted to acquire a husband and family immediately. Not only did I have a desperate need to show the world that I was NOT, in fact, so fat and ugly that no one would ever love me; but I also wanted to become a mother so everyone would see how much better I was at it than my own mother. Looking back on that now, it seems pretty stupid. Well, maybe that's a bit too harsh, but certainly an illogical choice and one that plenty of people fall into.
I suspect that deep down the reason I never settled for an unacceptable marriage was that I knew it wouldn't work. I'm a pretty unsufferable bitch when I'm unhappy. That's probably because I have not learned to set boundaries properly. Like when I'm in a horrible relationship, I don't do the breaking up. Instead I become so impossible that no one in thier right mind would stay with me...that way I can pretend like it's all out of my hands. It's really a very good thing that I didn't have a child 10 or 15 years ago when I first wanted one. That kid would be fucked UP right about now.
Anyway, this is getting long. I just wanted to point out that I am refocusing on writing and being a writer. I haven't decided yet if one becomes a writer by getting their work read by strangers, or if one simply needs to write. But I'm sick of not writing, and I'm continuing my efforts to view life in new ways. It amazes me how many things I heard as a child that I still accept as fact, even though I know intellectually that my childhood was fucked, and the friends and family I had back then were (for the most part) selfish, spiteful, unbalanced people. The best revenge (if indeed, I still need revenge) is not becoming rich, famous, or better than them. It is simply to live and be contented with myself; and to enjoy my own company enough to be able to spend time developing my talents and improving my overall self.
Corny as hell? Too bad, it's MY journal.
That said, I'm going to do something very un-Wednes like this afternoon.
Oprah is coming on, and I'm going to watch.
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