I really don’t know what I’m going to write about today, but I feel the need to express myself.
okay, this really sucks. I have been wandering throughout my apartment today. I might as well call it pacing as it’s only a 2-bedroom flat. As I’ve been pacing through,my place today I’ve been talking out loud & making all kinds of sense, like I do when no one’s listening. I told myself that I should be recording this or writing it, like I always do. This time, however, I listened.
My arms & shoulders get far too sore for a lot of writing anymore, so I stick with switching off typing a bit at a time. I also have voice recognition software that I like to use when my muscles decide to scream. I have Polymyalgia Rheumatica AND Fibromyalgia, so there are a lot of things that take a great deal of energy. SQUIRREL! I got my laptop out & was ready to record some awesome things from me brain.
nothing. Not a damn thing.
Blinky cursor on the laptop screen. Blinky, red light on the camera. Steady green light on the audio recording device.
Nothing. Not a damn thing.
WTF? I am a decent writer, story teller, & poet; where does it go when I deliberately want to say some words of wisdom?
I wish I were brave.
I wish I was able to leave my flat without fear (I have what I hope will be a temporary bout with agoraphobia—that’s another story for another time & place). I’m not so much afraid of people or even being hurt by people (I’ve been through so much that I can’t much care about that part of my anxiety), as I am about my reactions to people being stupid &/or mean. I know what I am capable of, out of love, lust, & hate. For some innate reason I cannot keep shit to myself when I see mistreatment of animals, children, vulnerable adults, & the list goes on for freaking ever!!! I also cannot bite my tongue (why should I harm my tongue for your sake anyway?) when I see, hear, or experience racism, even though on many levels I am just as guilty as the next person. . . hypocrite? Yes. but aren’t we all to some extend. The behaviors that bother us in others are usually the ones we refuse to see in ourselves. I see mine, & I can accept it. Sometimes it takes a minute, but I claim ownership for my shit. Whether I want acknowledgement of my good or I must make right an evil, I will eventually own it all.
Well, hell. That’s not even close to the “Tracey Gs Soapbox Schooling.” That’s more like "Moitle’s Melee Madness."
Christ! I’ll bet if I walk away a thought bubble will appear.
Times like this I wish I had a muse.
the privy!
There’s a plan, eh? Every writer & inventor knows that Ralph Waldo Emerson had it right when he sad that the grandest of thoughts tend to only come when one is in the outdoor privy or the indoor water closet (paraphrased from one of his journal entries that I read in my college days).
I may, or I may not be back.
End transmittal.
