dichotomy

here

I wanna go home
but I don't know
where that is
because nothin
feels like home
anymore
I hate everywhere
that you aren't

+/-

Sometimes inspiration is the perfect storm of a holiday weekend, disaster,
inconsiderate people, and just one. too. many. empty platitudes

     +/-
     yet another trite saying
     holistic meme
     caring and helpful....
     you're not what you seem
     inspiration wrapped
     in the most perfect bow
     security blankets?
     for those of us here below
     a small change of mindset
     is that what it takes?
     to mitigate this damage
     put on the brakes
     for minds running rampant
     filled with pain and despair
     and your sugared words
     this shoddy repair

when the writing prompts get out of hand

{I've been playing around with randomized prompts, and bits of short fiction.  So when I pulled "violin" and "person covered in tattoos" this was definitely not what I meant or wanted to write.}

Ink & Strings

I am not who I thought I would be. Neither violinist nor person covered in tattoos. Do I want to be either? Yes and no. Had I had the money to spare in my late teens, early twenties, late twenties, early thirties, etc etc etc I might have gotten a lot of tattoos that I thought I needed--hard emphasis on “thought”--instead of the one acquired at 42. I have a list now. Of need versus want...and still no funds to accomplish it.  So, I could have been covered in tattoos, though they’d have been the wrong ones.

As for the violinist...as I write this, I sit under an antique violin case hung on the wall. An odd sort of family heirloom gifted to my father by the doctor who delivered him. It is not strung. It has not been played within my lifetime. It hangs on the wall, where it has been for as long as I’ve known it; not even a decoration, just a thing we had. A prop for a story. Valued...but in an arbitrary sort of way.

I would have loved to have taken lessons in my youth. But it was another thing we couldn’t afford, and the violin itself another low priority “should”. As in, “We should get someone to check it out.” “We should see if it’s still playable.” “We should see about getting it restrung.”

When I was a child I thought all of these should statements were things we were going to do. That’s what “should” means in that context, right? Something that you should do is important...?

As an adult, I think should is a curse word. Not like saying fuck or bullshit. A true curse.

I’ve been beaten down by so many years of “it should work” or “we should be able to do it”, “we should be okay on the bills”, “the life insurance should pay out”, “we should be able to get the car fixed this time”, and my all time favorite: “meh, it should be fine”. I flinch every time someone says it anymore. And I cringe and chastise myself on the rare occasion that it comes out of my mouth.

Maybe somewhere in an alternate universe there is a woman who looks like me. Maybe she is healthy and less angsty, and not crippled by depression and anxiety. Maybe she isn’t scarred by cursed words. Maybe she isn’t alone. Maybe she is calloused from years of the pressure of strings, and inked with artwork, only a few of which she feels the barest twinges of regret for. Maybe she has a safe stable house that she loves. Maybe she has a dog, or a cat, or a ferret. Maybe she has a husband or wife or both. And maybe they all have family dinners every month with both blood and bound.

Maybe she has occasional nightmares of another woman, one with her face, but none of her charm. Nights where she wakes in tears, and becomes angry with her bedmate for not understanding why the idea of “everything staying the same” is so heart wrenching. Nights where she wants more than anything to go back into the dream, to hug that other woman and tell her everything will be alright. But she’s also glad that she’s awake, that they are just dreams. Because she doesn’t really believe that it can be okay.

the aftertaste is odd

                    emotion measured
                    like exotic ingredients
                    in a long lost recipe
                    on how to be
                    socially acceptable

.contrary.

ow

"Who hurt you?"
"I did."
"Why don't you stop?"

how
how do i not be me?
how do i change
everything
that i fundamentally
know
about myself
in an effort to be
healthy

just FOCUS, please

Y'know those competition cooking shows where they throw together a tag team of people who don't work well together?  And the one actually working is just trying their best to muddle along?  While the other is screaming half formed instructions because they know exactly how to do the thing but really really suck at articulating it?  And everything ends up messy and all over the place because the person on the sidelines can't explain multitasking and the person cooking can't think about what they need to do while their partner is shrieking partial sentences and demands at them?

My brain is the one frustrated and yelling from the sidelines today.  And I'm the one frozen and scattered because I can't do ALL OF THE THINGS AT ONCE.