a scary conversation, shut my eyes can’t find the brake, what if they say you’re a climber? naturally i’m worried if i do it alone, who cares cuz its your life, you never know it might be great, take a chance cuz you might grow…
Here I am again, another possible change of heart. Fucking fork in the road. I shamed my father when I went to college the first time for music education, I shamed my mother when I shunned writing as legitimate source of income. I left everyone speechless when I received recognition for efforts in Interior Design… and it was those gaping facial expressions that decided that color, textile, accessory obsessions were my intended mark in this world.
Fuck, I’m 24, you’d think that I know the answer already. It’s been established that I am my own worse enemy, that I am holding myself back surrendering to the mediocrity of suburbia and married life with a job that everyone else has… because I want to… I wanted to… I want to… I wanted to. But, mom is at it again with innuendos of the wrong college pursuit with her new roster of band wagon followers, including my husband. Pushing possible screen plays, book concepts, professors who can teach me the ropes of submitting for publishing, research of literary agents, and workshops titled “Write Ingredients.” All overwhelming… more college? More competition? More to learn? Fuck my life.
Still it gravitates to me, intoxicates me, screaming for me to follow. Should I pick up a pen again? This question… those ACTUAL words have been floating around in my tiny brain for the past month or so. It’s kept me awake, left my body tensed, even left me permanently logged into dictionary.com- my sad attempt to brush up! I know that great writing isn’t about participles, semi colons, or spelling but it sure is damn hard to sympathize with me if SOME fundamentals aren’t present. Still,with that being said, I absolutely fucking refuse to memorize the correct science of writing… hence my frequent use of dot-dot-dots, words that technically don’t exist, and other faux-pas that subtract from my credibility. No more school! Please! Ugh, but whatever manuscript I have is going to eventually be covered in the dreaded “RED”!!!
Then there’s that other plaguing question I’ve been thinking about… Am I enough? Enough as in funny/creative/original enough- just enough? This question could be a death sentence even for “vivacious” bitch like me, the wrong answer can leave a woman balled up into an emotional, dark corner of her life. Not ready for that.
like an echo pedal, you’re repeating yourself
you know it all by heart
why are you standing in one place?
born to blossom, bloom to perish
your moment will run out
cuz’ of your sex chromosome
i know its so messed up, how our society all thinks
life is short, you’re capable
look at your watch now! you’re still a super hot female! take a chance, you stupid hoe!