Some it frustrating... I frequently wonder why I get these crazy ideas, and how useful they are.
It's why I started this blog, after years and years and years of these crazy-ass ideas making me crazy, running around in my head. Screaming lambs, jumbly, whispery voices.
In a year, writing constantly pretty much, the Voices have gotten considerably quieter. I think they've learned they do have places to go, they can run and shout into the Virtual Universe and they will be heard, and so when they're locked up in my head they've learned to use their "inside voice". That makes a huge difference, it really does. There isn't as much shouting behind my eyes.
A lot has happened in a year. I got
I got closer to my real-life friends, and made a couple more online friends. I went on vacation, just me and the Kid (with Shoefly and the Moon... but the first time I and mine have gone AWAY away without the entire clan). I got SLIGHTLY more organized. I finally got my red couch. Mr. Kip passed away. The Professor had to move, the Diva bugged out, MoodMagicBarbie calmed down. I got custody of my own kid. I stood up to TF. And I fell in love. This last thing, well it didn't exactly work out the way I'd hoped, and it didn't turn out the way I'd liked, but considering I had had every intention of keeping those metal gates tightly shut, that was a pretty big deal. Of course now, it's in the "toothache" stage... where just when you think it's all healed you bite down on something and get that shooting nerve pain, which aches for hours afterwards. But whatever. I'll be OK.
I've also had the opportunity to do a lot of soul-searching. My own words serve as reflection of myself... I do go back and look at what I've written. I can see where I'm crazy. I can see my ups and downs. But I can see I've grown a little this year. I don't think my "downs" this spring were as bad as my "downs" last spring. Well, maybe. There was that week I wanted to stay in bed. But still, I think I've come a long way in owning up to the things that make me me.
As part of the soul-digging thing, lately I've been trying to figure out exactly what I'm meant for. I found the creative part of me; and this year I finally admitted that I'm an artist and not really a designer. A designer can be approached by someone with an idea, and reproduce it cleanly and neatly with some emotion, but not a lot. Me? Can't do that... I do my best work either when it's my own, or when I truly believe in the cause. And I hyperventilate when I'm forced to "just do it, because that's what I want. I don't care about the art part." Because I don't understand why everything can't be beautiful. It doesn't take money for that. It just takes an ability to be open, to see. There is beauty everywhere you look... even though sometimes you really have to look hard. But I am driven to find it, to show it. I get mad when others can't see. Bewildered.
But I'm an artist that likes very expensive things, and because of that I've got to figure out how to make money at something I can tolerate doing. Real money... not just maintenance money. "Free to be me" money. Cuz I'm tired of being "Free to be me" poor.
I've figured out that not only do I not like people (never have) but that there are some people who are willing to stand between me and the world. And I've figured out that I have a need to champion the underdog. I've always had an interest in social justice. But up to a point. I like the pre-planning... and not necessarily the standing around protesting. I hate handing out flyers or bearing placards. But I'll paint something... a door, a room, I'd rather work at Habitat for Humanity than be part of a march-on-something. Too many damn people.
When I was a little kid, my sister and I had a game we played, called the "Eric and Johnny" game. I'm not sure how it started; role playing I guess, little girls with dolls. Eric was the Professor's husband, and Johnny was mine. I had one child, the infamous Susie, and the Professor had one or more, depending on the doll she had or liked at the moment. The Professor was no where near as obsessive as I am, though she does have her "isms".
For me though, the part of the game we played with our dolls-- nursing our babies, cooking, going shopping, planning birthday parties--was no where near as important as the entire world I had going on in my head, behind the scenes.
See, Johnny was president and owner of a large company that ran programs for poor people. He was the president cuz I was older. Eric worked with him; he was vice president. The company, in my head, provided food and clothing for those that needed it, trained kids and soldiers (dunno why, but they did... it wasn't about war but about discipline), provided doctors. I'm almost embarrassed to admit all this, cuz it was all very Socialist, probably inspired by my father's very Marxist ideas at the time. And I've no idea why I spent so much time developing the world in my head... or why the idea stuck with me all these years. I think I was seven when we started playing the game, and I think we continued well into the time we lived in Bull Bay, where we moved when I was 10.
I've been thinking about the Eric and Johnny game a lot lately... in a funny kind of way I've found myself drawn into a project that has some of that feeling. It's a BIG dream. HUGE. So big that when I spoke to someone about it, they asked whether it had been patented. Wow, I thought. I never thought of that. I'm kind of scared that this dream has merged with some other people's big dreams... and I've put myself in the mix. Can I deliver? Does everyone understand it's a dream? It seems that those I've spoken to are like, "Hey, you never know". On my good days I think "well, I have a better chance at pulling this off, starting it rolling, than I do at winning Lotto or Powerball"... on my bad days I think "Holy Fuck. The Narcissistic Tendencies have gotten me into a world of trouble. Those Voices are leading me down a garden path".
Or nothing could come of it at all... but you never know.
Then there's Things You Ask For But Need To Be Careful About Getting, and into that category falls the Opportunity To Pursue. The Opportunity has another name, but I'm not going to divulge that yet... cuz I'm still not sure where I'm at. There's a kindness and a patience and an understanding there that I appreciate, that like a cat I find myself sitting under the sofa and peeking out at.... but at the moment I prefer to stay under the couch. Nursing my toothache.
Every cat worth his salt knows that generally, things are too good to be true, and extreme caution is required.
So that's my blogyear. I've enjoyed it. I hope there will be many more... in fact, I'm sure there will be. I kept a diary when I was a kid, and sporadically throughout my adult life. I never finished "1977" here, but am still planning on pulling it out and trying to get a hard-copy release... complete with Poppy's wonderful pictures. In the meantime, I'm wondering what other phase of my life to reveal... but I still will post my day-to-day. It's a life-long habit. And I need to. When I don't, the lambs scream.
Thanks for being here with me! Happy Birthday to Us!