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Tuesday, May 9, 2006
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sunglasses.When I started this blog, I wanted to encourage myself to write more often.
When I started it a second time, it was because writing was all I was doing, and I just wanted to get better.
When I started it a third time, it was so I would keep writing, and not give up.
Now I write all the time, all day long, and I'm really, really blessed. And this is part of what I write.
The audience for this blog has changed somewhat since my first effort; some of the people that spurred me on at first don't even read me -- or even write themselves -- anymore. But as some people lose interest or grow quiet or move on, different people come along to take their places.
You all come for different things. Some of you like to laugh, some of you like to think. Some of you want to do both, and preferably with a huge cup of coffee in your hand.
Every once in a while, I write something that catches everyone the right way, and then my little blog becomes a bit of a celebration, or at least an extended riff on somethingorother. On the other hand, I often write things that seem to leave everyone silently perplexed.
There's no telling.
So I keep going.
For whoever is there. I'm glad you're there, by the way. Did you know that?
It is all this history, all this backstory, all this expectation vs. reality that builds up in my head when I go to discuss certain things here. Usually, in fact, when I go to discuss things that frighten me. I wonder if anyone will care, if anyone will understand, if anyone will know why and how I'm hurting.
Maybe that stuff just isn't bloggable. I mean, I suppose you could be funny all the time, and man... I wish I was one of those people.
But although I laugh for hours -- hours! -- most every damn day, and though my friends and family and co-workers are some of the wackier people on earth, sometimes I just have to admit that I'm not finding my life all that funny or entertaining. Sometimes I just find it kind of... hard.
Not hard in the sense that I suffer like some people suffer. I know how lucky I am. I don't pretend to have any kind of monopoly on pain. Well, I suppose I have a monopoly on my own pain, but no one's really competing in that market. Or wants to.
So.
Being real.
For whoever is out there.
I guess that's why I blog tonight.
This Wednesday, I go to an appointment that may or may not change my life.
That's the easiest way to put it, I suppose.
I'm scared, though. I've been scared for a really long time about a lot of things, and facing up to those fears has led me to the point I'm at now: lying in bed with eyes wide open, feeling my heart beating quickly, and trying to find a way to work through all of this in my head.
I know that many people view my life as "charmed" -- hell, they say so all the time -- but can I tell you that it doesn't feel that way now? Right now, it just feels like a bit of a time bomb, but not a bomb that will end in an explosion.
Just a whole lot of quiet, simple, inescapable hurt. Maybe. But I won't know until Wednesday.
And man, does it suck to wait and wonder and wish I'd done things differently or known things sooner or tried something that would make this moment anything but what it is.
No matter what happens, I'll survive, I promise. I just don't know how it could hurt more right now.
And I'm not saying that to upset my mother or to worry my friends, though that may be part of what occurs. But they also have the advantage of knowing what you don't necessarily know, and that's this: I am strong enough to kick the ass of whatever happens, and to live to grin like an idiot another day.
Right, Mom? I didn't get to 32 without taking my share of lumps, and I always make it through okay, just like you. You taught me to be tough and you taught me to work through things. It sucks sometimes, but what else can you do?
Have faith that, no matter how scared I am, I'm not scared enough to stop being me for a second.
For now, though, this is the story.
On the way home today, I was listening to a song that rubbed on the raw part of my heart and made awkward, inconvenient tears spring to my eyes. Thank God for big sunglasses, I thought, as I squinted and blinked into the sunshine through a shield of tortoiseshell plastic.
Then I noticed an old woman watching me with some concern, and I realized she must have seen my initial embarassed grimace when I realized tears were on the way. So I pulled it together, and popped off the glasses and semi-smiled as beatifically as I could manage in that moment. I felt like a foolish kid, blubbering on public transit while true survivors sat in the seats around me.
She looked away then, and my eyes fell to the cheap frames in my hand. Something in me wanted to throw them out the window, but I hung on to them just in case I needed another disguise somewhere down the road.
There's no crying on the bus, after all.
I hope that's not the rule around here.
But is there someplace far away, someplace where all is clear
Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear
Or are you left to wander, all alone, eternally
But is this how it's really meant to be
Oh is it how it's really meant to be
Pray for me, ok?
If you do.
12:30:59 AM 
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© Copyright
2006
Meg Fowler.
Last update:
6/1/06; 11:12:15 PM. |
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