I am giving my poet a chance to do her thing, taking turns with the blogger.
I have skipped school again today, feel my education taking a back burner to my real life -
I feel frustrated with myself and yet, see myself very much like my son Kevin.
I just got a call from his high school English teacher "Kevin is missing way too many days"
Sigh,
my son and I are the same personality type in many many many ways - not all mind you - but many.
What we have in common is the artist angst - the creative fire.
He is a musician, I am a writer.
Who has time for high school English when there are rifts to write that may change the world?
I get it as I sit here blogging when I should be in class....
I have an excuse that is valid though - my head STILL feels like it may explode.
This is day seven of the worst, continual headache I have ever had.
Maybe it is a sinus infection - my eyes are swollen and the passage ways that circle around my face do look very much like a puffy road map - my skin is gray and raised all around my nose, eyes and forehead.
I am suffering from a culmination of distraction factors.
I feel like shit and I simultaneously feel like the real world exists here in my quiet home in front of my laptop, rather than outside my front door.
It is a seasonal thing for me too.
I am pissed off that summer has ended and I am mentally full of fear for the winter months.
I don't think that any one factory is capable of making enough prozac to get me through the dark, cold of Winter.
I hermit inside, hibernate emotionally, but still have to get up and go to work, exist in a climate that is unhealthy for a sun-goddess.
Sigh.
There is a lot going on in this head of mine of late - a lot going on in the outside world I really don't want to be a part of.
The sun is out today and that is good, although I didn't rouse from sleep until two hours ago and the day is half over if not more - at least when it comes to time to really accomplish anything.
My bed is made - I count that as an achievement, "look kids Mommy made her bed!"
They so won't be impressed....
A lot of my life, I spend wondering - am I normal?
Well wait - I don't strive to the "norm" - what I mean is,
do other people feel this angst and not talk about it openly like me - or am I just a very specific, select, unique brand of nut job?
Mary says it is my artistry - all artists have this angst - this turbulence within - this discontent - this fire thing that burns in my core.
I mean, I agree with that whole heartedly, when in doubt - I go to Dave.
Confirmed - feel less alone - move on.
But, is it just that I am an artist? A writer, a poet, a dancer?
Is it just that I am made that way and that is what makes me so deep and full of angst?
Or is it human nature that we all experience and some (like me) are more capable or needy of sharing it openly?
Because I am surely not the only one that relates to Dave when he is bereaved or contimplative - I am not the only one that reads Emily Dickinson and goes 'Whao - Em's I feel you girlfriend.'
Right?
But then - I take into account people I know (unnamed to spare them embarrassment) who sing the words to songs and have no idea - have not spent a moments time - putting those words into context - deriving the meaning, but still listen and love it just the same...
See, in my mind - those are the whacka dooodles and I am completely sane, completely complete and intact.
I had this long and drawn out convo with Mary about this topic the other day - we stretched it out, flipped it around, turned it inside and out trying to come to a resolute answer that we were comfortable with.
Thing is - I get the "she's crazy" A LOT.
I have mixed emotions on that label.
Part of me is like "well that is cause you don't get it and sorry for you that you don't - your flat line is while you have a pulse - yuck"
and then part of me is like
"Oh really and what the fuck makes you sane - your inability to 'go there'?"
Part of me feels sorry for the label slappers and part of me wants to debate them openly - have a forum to really explain myself and microscope their judgment.
Am I crazy for saying that there is not a factory around that can produce enough prozac to get me through the winter months happily - is that crazy or just humorously bruttaly honest?
My wide open nature gets two reactions with very little middle ground.
Either "You are fantastic" Or "wow you are nuts"
I like the fantastic idea a whole lot more than the nuts idea - I'd say all in all it works out about even.
The "fantastics" are usually people I want to hang with immediately
The "nuts" are usually people that, internally when I am around them - I feel a little uncomfortable.
Are we really that divided as humans?
I have a really hard time believeing that we are.
History shows me that we are always in search of answers.
It also shows me however, that the people who seek them out openly are often condemned (even put to death) for their evil, question asking ways.
Take Socrates for example...
He is my homeboy - I am just like him.
I ask a question and then do the verbal - okay - let's strip this sucker bare - truth by untruth by truth by untruth.
Let's cross shit off that doesn't apply and get down to the core.
I also admit, like homie - I don't know shit.
I am here to learn about it not claim I KNOW anything.
He was executed - executed for corrupting the youth and going against the gods.
I think I could be accused of similar vio
Before I went to college and studied the works of Plato and Socrates, I felt more alone than I now do.
I feel like philospohers are often condemned in their time and then raised to brilliant status long after their lives have ended.
I wonder is that why I feel such a need to write all this shit down?
Do I feel that one day, looking back, people will say "man that Deb, she was some kind of brilliant philospher?" instead of "man that Deb she's an odd bird" ????
I crack myself up.
Does any of it really matter to anyone really?
Do people just slap labels on others to divert attention from their own?
I don't know - I KNOW a whole lot of nothing - I just like to ask and think it all out.
And most obvioulsy, write it all out.
Mary said she "wishes it didn't bother me so" - the whole "she's crazy" thing -
she wishes that I would just remember that those who accuse me of that are the same people who don't ask themselves what Dave's "would you not like to be - okay okay okay?" really means, they just sing the words loud with their car windows down unafftected by the gloom and doom that is pervasively attacking the human spirit daily, unmoved to change anything and everything.
I know nothing - I have no answers.
I am not even sure what I have said here - as usual....
And with that...I really should go eat more advil sinus and attempt to do something that seems normal - what the hell that is IDK.
What is that lyric?
"and maybe I'm a little crazy, but laughing out loud makes the pain pass by" ???
I love you Dave and Mary and all of you who don't think I am a loose cannon of crazy.
And if you do - well, I love you too and I am sorry for you that I make no sense.
The socratic method isn't for everyone - clearly or he wouldn't have drank that poison.
Oh my Deb-or-ah, oh my.
Peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment