Well well here I am sitting at my computer attempting to actually write something, anything...In my last blog I believe I stated that I needed to write more seeing that it is my passion - this week has left little time to pee let alone write and I am feeling deflated, all the wind gone out of my writers sails...
Not that I don't want to write - I do, just that I cannot find a second to breathe let alone form lucid thoughts.
I had a really refreshing convo with my English professor Monday night that made me feel like I am not alone in my 'can't write enough' writers misery. I sat in his office and confessed that I am having a really hard time living 'real life' - I don't want to go to work, I don't want to do the laundry, I don't really want to do anything other than work diligently on my manuscript. We discussed that I feel different from the masses - I feel like I live on sensory overload - everything I see, hear, feel etc. etc. is magnified by a zillion, I live a complex existence of observational overload. I doubt highly that most people live this way and a lot of the time I feel like I am alone in my head. He assured me, he is the exact same way and he encouraged me to keep doing what I am doing - just keep writing it all out whenever I can, by whatever means...Write on napkins, receipts, carry a little notebook - just write Deb, just write....
I was sitting at the pool yesterday watching the people around me - I am the only Mother who listens to her IPOD on full blast, isolated in her own world while the kids splash and play... I am the only Mother that dances on her lounge chair because she cannot help it.
I wonder what others perception of me is??? Do the other pool peeps think I am a whack job for my chair dancing? Do they think I do it for attention? Truth is, I do it because I cannot help it - that's what I mean by sensory overload....I hear the music, feel the sun beat down on me, appreciate the path of the sweat that trickles down towards my belly button, enjoy the tickle of the once in a while breeze and it all culminates in me moving my muscles, my part of the moment...I can't help it, in fact I am surprised that I don't bust out into full in vocal accompaniment more often than I do, I have a hard time restraining my reactions to the outer influences of this crazy beautiful world.
So, in case you were wondering, I am not looking for attention as I pool dance, to the contrary I am just paying close attention to my own sensory world and reacting accordingly.
I told my professor, that for most of my life I have felt misunderstood by most people, that when I have explained myself, a lot of the time I have been met with looks of absolute bewilderment... I am getting a lot better at surrounding myself with people who are either 'like minded' or, just love me the way I am without having to 'get it'....
This brings me to Amy Winehouse...And if you disagree please do not comment on my blog, because honestly this isn't a topic I wish to debate with anyone.
I have been listening to her a lot lately, strangely right before her death I asked my son, the computer wiz, to download me as much Amy as he could find.
She died the day he was simultaneously working on it at our kitchen table - oh irony how you love me so....
At any rate, I was listening to her yesterday at the pool - chair dancing and loving her and all her brilliance, sad as hell that she is dead and that two albums is all we will ever get of that voice that smacked hard of misery and beauty entwined.
I was thinking a lot about how her lyrics tell her honest story and that it is as plain as day to me, that she was tortured emotionally, fighting a strong and constant demon of misunderstanding.
Poor Amy, sweetie I get you....
She felt alone from what I can gather, alone in the raw honesty of who she was and what she felt. And man it bums me out that she got all hooked on drugs and alcohol and traded her storm for a quiet reprieve.
I wish she had continued to storm and make people like me dance to the same tune.
I am not a drug addict or an alcoholic, but I do want to, most of the time, escape the duality of a world where I do not feel completely understood or accepted.
I get why Amy was such a mess and I hurt for her, wish that she knew how perfect she was in all her astounding dark creativity.
So many artists suffer with the sensory overload - I would readily wager that Amy was just this way.
Of course I never knew Amy Winehouse and guess that I could be completely wrong in my assessment of her character, but I doubt it - I think she was like every other tortured artist suffering in her head and feeling isolated and alone.
Ahhh Amy, I love you girl - wish you had stuck around.
I will say I hate the media bullshit and I hate that people are joking that she 'should have gone to rehab' - she died...Not something to laugh about - compassion would seem right here, not stabs at a dead 27 year old.
Yeah everyone saw it coming, she was an addict, but addicts are addicts because they suffer and that is not even remotely close to humorous, nor should it ever be.
I guess I feel so strongly because I relate so closely to her demons....
Like I said at the start of this blog - sensory overload and creativity is not an easy burden to bear even for the strongest of wills.
And so, I will listen to Amy a lot in these next coming weeks before I begin my psycho schedule at school and while I contemplate how in the hell tp carve out time for my creative voice to have it's due time....I will listen to her croon and remember that it is important for me to make it all work, not to give up on my real life, or the one in my head...
I am frustrated beyond words right now, feel torn in two and hate every second of it. Have a stupid ass headache that won't stop squeezing my brain and skull relentlessly - I think it is the duality of me duke-ing it out in my head, I think it's a battle raging in my soul that I can unfortunately feel physically...
At least I wrote something today, right?
RIP Amy Winehouse, I am in pain for your pain, for my pain too.
And off to real life I go....
Peace out.
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