Journaling

Outside In

As soon as I got home from the funeral I sat down to write an email.  It felt urgent, it felt like it needed to be done right then.  Responding to one of little man’s therapist felt like I was doing something, something with purpose.  Helpful, I like to be helpful.  She started a music and movement class to help kids with special needs.  It promotes inclusion and I was so happy to have my son be a part of it.  So yes, I’m responding quickly to help her because she helped us.  Or maybe to block the pain, maybe to feel better, maybe I was so happy to feel anything that didn’t involve tears or being too numb to cry.

I ran in the morning to prepare me for the day.  Or did I run to erase last night?  Coming from a surprise birthday party one night then to a funeral the next afternoon, how do I do that?  I don’t come with a switch.  I can’t turn on the proper emotion you’re supposed to feel.  I feel like I’m outside my own world squinting my eyes, even covering them because I can’t really see.  And even if I could there are so many clouds can I see what I want, or does circumstances tell me what I’m supposed to see?  Ugh!  Maybe if I run some more I can shake this.  When does the funk end? 

I had a fucked up moment last night.  Lying in bed I was thanking God as always for another day.  And every time I go through the motions of grief I have a need to tell the people who love me to not let people say “I’m in a better place” if I die before them.  This phrase pisses me off!  I would not be in a better place.  My place is with those who love me.  So I’m thanking God and asking him to look over my friends and family as they too find ways to handle their loss and grief.  And in mid-sentence I was asking him to make sure no one says “better place” but I stopped, oh shit, I’m talking about his place!  I busted out laughing.  Well that took an interesting turn.  And in my head of prayers I’m stuttering, ummm ummmm, well I guess I’m not sure what to say here.  So I told the big guy he’ll have to keep his faith in me now and I’ll get back to him on that.  But as I’m thinking about this because of course that was mind fucking, wanting to live is saying this is a better place for me right?  So I’m not dissing heaven in any way, it’s just my way of saying I want to live.

"I will not give in"

Journaling

One Foot After Another

That shit is cheaper than therapy anyways!

Deciding one day you don’t want to have any more kids is one thing.  Being told you can’t is another.  Being told an option for better health means a procedure that removes that possibility, also something totally different.  “One and done” that’s what I’ve said for five years now.  But this is so messed up.  Talk about a total mind fucking couple days.

I ran.  Running always makes me feel better, heavy days at the gym always makes me feel better.  Getting all my gear ready in the locker room and my arm band is nowhere to be found, this makes me swear even more if that is fucking possible!  I fucking knew it was stolen.  I can’t believe I didn’t notice it last time.  I searched my bag forever even though I knew some fuck stole my shit.  What the fuck is wrong with people?  No no, no one would steal so on I looked.  Them fuckers!  It’s so fucking gone!  Marched out to the staff and so politely asked if someone stole I mean, turned in a lost arm band.  I couldn’t believe it when she said they’ve had a problem with people stealing lately.  Who the fuck am I kidding of course I can believe it.  Them fuckers!!!!  She searched 3 locations which was nice but really?  Who the fuck has 3 places of lost shit?  Not 3 drawers but 3 different rooms in a huge building!  Sounds to me like you have lost and found, and stole and I better return before the red head kicks some serious ass rooms!  She walked out and asked me if my arm band was mine and I think I saw a halo around it.  I was so damn giddy and excited I think I jumped.  Yup I fucking jumped for joy and I think I almost hugged her.  Of course no one stole my stuff, people never do that.  Or, I am so lazy the thought of holding onto my phone for music really can put me in that pissed off of a mood.  I think I’m the only person I know who would need to run just to work off the anger from someone stealing their shit.  There is something wrong with me!  And when I was done running I fucking left it on the bench again while I worked out for someone to steal!!  Instead of the sign I was going to put “Steal and Beware of Red” I should put “I’m a fucking idiot so please steal my shit.”

While getting ready to head on the track a really nice elderly gentleman stopped me, “do you always workout that hard?”  Fuck yes I do, “yes every time.”  “That’s amazing I applaud you.”  That was a nice moment for me.  I applauded myself too for not being irritated at all that someone broke into my time of solace and motioned me to take my ear buds out.  I think I really needed the compliment.  Hellish couple of days and anything to lift me was very much appreciated.  But it got even better, a very important friend showed up.  What a fucking great day this turned out to be!

"Aint gonna stop cuz they tell me so"

Journaling

Snoozed twice this morning. 18 minutes and I was so pissed off. So pissed because how the hell am I going to get everything done today. Another fucking night of no sleep. Should I workout today, am I even going to be able to. Fuck I'm tired. I only got out of bed because I need to make sure little man isn't late for therapy today. I opened my phone thinking I was going to see the norm, good mornings, fuck you memes, inspirational get fit as fuck quotes and maybe they were all there but I didn’t notice. All I saw was the txt that a close friend lost a loved one during the night. All of a sudden nothing seems to matter. Does it matter? Is the day moving in slow motion? Am I moving in slow motion? This feeling is so fucked up. Is it a feeling? I don’t feel sad or somber or well, anything. I feel numb. Numb feels heavy. Is that fucking normal? Doesn’t that defy some sort of scientific law somewhere? How can numbness feel like anything? Thinking about all the times I saw him, talked to him, pictures of him on my phone. Grief is so fucked up. Is it my loss? Or am I grieving because someone close is suffering? So many degrees and variances of grief but its all so awful. And there is nothing I can do. Nothing to make any of my friends feels better nothing to make myself feel better so I'm just stuck. Stuck in some sort of degree of grief but does it matter? At least I’m alive. I mean is that how it’s going to be for a while? Where I'm more grateful than usual for things? Or I feel like I can’t complain? Will it be a while? What is a while? I’ve already heard him being talked about in past tense. God that is so fucked up. If up until his dying day he’s a good father and good husband, son, brother, grandpa, cant he hold on to that title? Why do we say he WAS all those things, isn’t he still? Hasn’t he deserved the right to still be all those great things?

I don’t even feel tired anymore. 3 hours of sleep feels like something, this feels like nothing and its worse, so much worse.

What a vicious fucking circle this is! 

Journaling

Snownesia

Why do people forget how to drive every time a cloud appears in the sky?  God forbid it snows, now the snownesia sets in even further.  The danger in this weather is how much I drift off into thought wondering why all these fucking people ever got in their cars.  It's obvious they don't want to get where they are going.  

I started taking a toll how many times someone brought up the weather to me in one day. I know it's fucking snowing! I didn't teleport my ass to stand right in front of you so that you can tell me!!!  48 times today.  There is something wrong with that.  People are so starved for some kind of conversation but have no idea what to say.  This has to be the reason.  Why else does the weather constantly keep getting brought up.

Still have this damn cough, maybe a month now.  I can ask the creepy no shame naked senior citizen at the gym.  It doesn't matter what time I'm there, so is she and she tells me I'm still coughing every damn time.  And every damn time while she's naked. 

"Be careful." Wish I kept a toll on how many times I heard that today.  Why do people insist on stating the obvious?  Maybe the better question is why does it bother me so much.  Do I say this?  Fuck maybe I've been infected by snownesia too.  "Be careful it's snowing out"  REALLY!  Well fuck I'm so happy you told me that, I thought this shit was butterflies falling all over me and I was going to drive as fast as I could not to be carried off to the land of all things creepy that fly!

Damn Strait

Now I have to find a way to scrub off these 48 marks on my hand!

“Writing as Self-Revelation”

Grammar is Only Skin Deep

Let’s face it, English teachers are scary!  I’m laughed at when the people closest to me see how mad I am when I have to turn in a second English paper before the first one has even been graded and handed back.  Why?  Because I never know how that teacher grades or what their expectations are.  Do they put the hammer down on grammar or are my ideas and efforts in translating them onto the page the most important?  I have been in several classes when I have said out loud (well not close enough for the teacher to hear of course) that no matter what I do it will never be good enough.  I have even been told that my writing was “stiff”, “unrealistic.”  Yes, and when I walked away from them I had a few choice words.  Of course they were wrong!  I was using big words, I sounded smart, and I even used a thesaurus!   Need I quote Stephen King once again, yes I do, “Any word you have to hunt for in the thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.”  What I had a problem with was finding my own voice.  I was too concerned with writing for the teacher rather than just letting myself be heard beyond the surface.

There is a part in “Writing as Self-Revelation” where the author Luella B. Cook talks about a time when she was asked a question, “But what do you do about all the errors in grammar and spelling?  Do you just over-look them?”  Her reply was simple, “Temporarily yes.” She is “looking for something else, for something real that a pupil is trying to say, for some hint of possibility that I may help him build upon.”  In analyzing this “nervous concern over errors” Cook believes it comes from “criticism.”  “Criticism has long been our stock and trade.  Pupils write and we carefully correct their papers judging the value of our own efforts by the thoroughness with which we have identified their errors.”  Doesn’t that explain the comic above?  Instead of the teacher finding value in the content of the past student’s words, wanting to be recognized and remembered, he’s basically shhh-ing him because incorrect grammar he believes reflects badly upon him as the teacher.

Is the constant need for immediate proper grammar the same as talking in someone else’s voice?  It’s rule following at its best.  You’re doing it simply because someone else told you to.  If the content within is the mouth watering dessert you were craving, does it matter if it’s served on a paper plate or fine china?  Getting your ideas down and having that teacher who helps you develop it is priceless.  The grammar can always be fixed when you’re finished.

While I am not saying its okay to not learn and practice proper grammar, I am saying that WHAT a person says is far more important than HOW a person says it.

John Grisham’s commencement speech at UNC-ChapelHill in 2010 gives a great argument on the importance in finding your own voice.  He says the “most difficult task facing a writer is finding the voice in which to tell a story.”  After all I do agree when he says “a voice is more than a sound”, holding “three essential elements”, “clarity, authenticity and veracity.”  So I say find your voice.  Screw the thesaurus and have a teacher that "temporarily" looks beyond the surface of the skin/grammar.  Let them see the depths of the content, there is a good argument to be had here.  Challenge them.  If all you’re being graded on is grammar, ask if you could see what your grade would be if only looking at how your voice translated to the paper.  Speak from your heart, plead your case and be heard beyond your skin.

“The Goody-Two-Shoes Nature”

Blood at My Fingertips

It’s true isn't it?  Writing is laying our inner most thoughts out for the world to be influenced by and for us to be criticized with.  It is gutting ourselves with a dull blade and as the need and want becomes more we push harder and harder to form our blood into words.  It’s funny and head turning that this is so empowering. 

“The Goody-Two-Shoes Nature” says writing practice is “like any other sport.”  So why then does it suggest we walk away when it becomes difficult?  Any person who dreams of writing writes with their whole heart.  A bad day of writing is simply just that.  An athlete who has a bad day does not have the option to not step on that field.  They are dedicated to their sport.  They do what needs to be done to get through the practice or the game they barely had the effort to attend.  Does that mean their “heart isn’t into it?”  Absolutely not!  It just means we as writers and athletes alike are human and we all have days we need to push through life’s difficulties to do what our heart desires.  It was Stephen King in "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft" who said “Stopping a piece of work just because it’s hard either emotionally or imaginatively is a bad idea.  Sometimes you have to go on when you don’t feel like it and sometimes you’re doing good work when it feels like all you’re managing to do is shovel shit from a sitting position.”

We are not all so fortunate to have the option to “rest completely for a while” and “come back more fully choosing to engage.”  There are deadlines in writing which are our game days.  So having a routine for writing practice doesn’t make us being “dutiful.”  It makes us being whole heartedly dedicated to our sport of writing.  We will take our much needed break during our off season and heal from our injuries and strains then.  But until that day comes we will step on that field, walk into that gym, sit down with pens in our hands or finger tips at our keys and we will push through any wall that tries to block us.  When game day comes, some athletes throw up before their performance, I scream before writing.  You have no idea how many times I screamed when writing this.  But I finished and you are reading it.  I poured my blood into every one of these words.