I had this thought on the way home, as I often do. Driving and thinking like I do. The thought was this: I've been effing broadcasting myself my whole flippin' life.
I have. Radio in college, at KDIC: the most phallic call letters on the planet and they were mine. I was relentless with Wimmin's Music and Fun Dyke Tunes. It was awesome fun. Theater in high school. Cheesy little publication we did in middle school. Now I tweet. I am a content generator for Facebook. I cannot stop.
I slow down, sure. I have instituted periods of enforced quietness. Problem is, eventually I do have something to say. Problem? For nay-sayers, for folks who feel like I put too much out there, for folks who just wish I'd be a little bit different, in this one little way.
Everyone's got an opinion. Sometimes it's hard for me to form one. Sometimes it's coming out of my mouth before the whole story is told. A little bit of age and a couple of lovely people giving honest feedback, and I know that I need to shut up and listen from time to time. I practice. I fear that I err too much on the side of "make yourself small"... and I can only shrink myself for so long. Eventually the real me will bust out in some expletive explosion or just a burp and that'll be the end of the honeymoon.
Please reference my doormat-asshole dial for a visual understanding of my dilemma.
Balance balance. That bitch always comes back.
Dear Blog, I miss you when I'm gone. I know it's me. I know it's in my head. I've got so frickin' much to say, but it comes at me in clumps and lumps and then I get distracted. There's this life thing, you know, the one that keeps generating all this content, and trying to wrap my arms around that. Well... life is hard, but it's all the same.
Let's remind each other to remind each other that bitching is fine, as long as we can look up sometimes too.
I have talked a lot in the past, to anyone who'll listen, about finding comfort, even divinity, in the small things. Water running over fingers. Birds singing their hearts out. An amazing sky, like a fiery divine canvas.
I gotta tell you. I'm ready for some effing large scale happiness. I'm not trying to be Miss Too Big for Her Britches. I'm just saying. If I can thread this needle, then I should be able to stitch this together. I think I'm gonna need help. I'm pretty sure that's the title of the next lesson coming up: How to Ask for Help from Others.
God I SUCK at this lesson. What is this, the fourth time through? Muther. At least.
I'm ready for the big picture. I'm ready to try this out. I'll be honest and an asshole and loving all at the same time. Respect. Give respect. Focus. Be real. Be yourself, whatever the fuck that is at the moment. Steel yourself, then relax.
Upright? Yes. Steady as she goes then, love.