Based on this title, you are probably are saying to yourself, “Why do you have a Word-Press account if this is what writing feels like to you?” I do not know the answer. I know I LOVE writing. I know that my husband calls me the “computer murderer” so sufficed to say, the “dream-phone-analogy” answer lies between those two answers. At this very moment, I googled “HOW DO USE SPELL CHECK ON A EFFIN’ SURFACE PRO” and “HOW DO USE SPELL CHECK ON FREAKIN’ WORD PRESS”. apostrophes and all.
I love writing. I talked to a close friend yesterday and she asked me what would be the best compliment you could ever receive from someone, and I answered “They “got” my writing, not that they LOVED it, but they “get” my flow, man.” Again, I do not take any type of feedback well (including compliments) because I over think EVERY-WORD; therefore, anytime, anyone gives me advice, I search for the underlining meaning, like Nicholas Cage on a Treasure Map Hunt, hence my permanent Nick-Cage wrinkle betwixt my eyebrows. We also texted later about the subject of writing and we both agreed that Word-press was a damn heart-breaker. Her text was “word press will make you cry”. I have ended up red-faced, flushed in a puddle of tears boo-hooing over both WordPress and iTunes or any kind of curfufffledschmuffled program. I take their incessant need to constantly challenge that technically dormant part of my brain to a personal level. I think I tried to engage iTtunes in a street fight one day.
Please ask me how many books I have ordered from Amazon about how to write a book or how to effectively navigate through word press and I will tell you more than one is too many for this OCD_ADHD raddled technology delinquent brain. I do keep a hand written journal but I consistently maintained a C- or lower in “hand-writing” during the elementary years. Last night I just wrote one word sentences in my journal, in the dark because I read a blog on how any kind of light before bed makes it more difficult to fall asleep and of course anything you read on the internet is 100 percent true and accurate and should be applied to your life IMMEDIATELY.
I have written entire stories in my brain while falling asleep, I am constantly “writing” thoughts throughout the day, through my contorted facial movements. Apparently, the current terminology for “writing thoughts” is affectionately called “resting-bitch-face”, and I may be ground zero for RBF. Twitter is a fabulous place to practice concise-contorted-facial-movement-writing-RBF-thoughts and if you are fairly obscure and do not have a ton of followers, you are in no inherent danger of starting a “twitter-war” or an media-maggedeon because you tweeted something that virtually offended someone via the cyber-sphere.
I think the most difficult challenge for me in writing every day is I do not transition well between tasks and I might be slightly addicted to sticky-note ‘to do’list. (think Gone Girl MINUS the money and the crazy-hot-bitch-psychosis). Let me give you a head-dialogue example of my brain when it comes to writing and parenting. ( Side note, I am extremely impressed with bloggers who publish a blog-post on a consistent basis because my brain is like a snap-dragon firework (not the Katy Perry Firework kind) when it comes to transitioning between “WHO SPIT THE MOUTHWASH AIMED AT THE LIGHT FIXTURE?” and “ok, lets PICK one of my 873 writing “ideas” in this file and churn out a blog. )
Dialogue in my brain:
“Ok! kids on the bus! wow didn’t I just vacuum 33 seconds ago?”
“How many chunks of food do I need to actually throw in trash can or can I jam them in the rechargeable vacuum stick?”
“What is that smell? oh, yes laundry, let me get started on the smelly pile first”
“Alarm! Alarm! Alarm! Alarm” with the words WRITE BOOK”
“What does this sticky note say? I think I need to re-write and re-post in a more prominent place so I will actually ‘wash the windows this spring” (yes, wash windows by spring – is on a sticky note., on my fridge..)
….desperately-clinging-to my-youth-Beastie-Boys-ring-tone-on-my-colossal-technologically-advanced-smartphone that I am unable locate ….” oh no!!!, is the school calling?..on CRAP-DRAGON where is my phone”
and so on and whence-forth.
The dialogue in my brain as it pertains to actual writing is complicated. It’s filled with self-doubt, ego, confidence, happiness, sadness, peace, butterflies, dragons, George Takei facebook posts, oceans of emotion, and the most evil of all kryptonite to writers, comparison. I am human. Yes, I compare myself to other people. Other moms. Other writers. Other Professionals. Other people who seem to have their shit so tight that you just want to grab their smart phone and shuffle around their appointments and yell “YO! YOU HAVE BEEN PUNK’D”.
I KNOW ,I KNOW, no-one truly has it all together. In fact I avoid the “perfectly put together” persona as much as I conversely avoid hot-messes of drama and high-maintenance persona. I have made tremendous strides in my self-acceptance and catapulted from the comparison trampoline with resplendent careless abandonment more so in my forties, than I ever even DREAMED of in the my teens and twenties.One of the biggest perks of aging is a exquisite, priceless subscription to “No-f&^%s-given-monthly”* which I welcome with open arms.
In closing, I am content this very minute with where I am in my “writing journey”. I love to read my journal and laugh so hard that I cry because I would be a lobotomized zombie of driveled doom and depressive gloom if I lost the ability to laugh at myself. The other day I read a passage in which I wrote “Dear God, please help me find two forks to put in my eye at this v’ery moment” (I was testing out a Cheerleader phase with my daughter and I was a cheerleader in high school so I should be more tolerant)> Thankfully, she likes dance more and I love her dance place, it’s a forkless-in-the-eye atmosphere sans any kind of bye-felicia-talk-to-the-hand-dance-mom-drama.
The great friend I had lunch with the other day reminds me “I AM ENOUGH”. She may not say it to me directly or daily, but through actions, her interactions with other women, the way she approaches her life, her writing , raising her kids, her faith, – she teaches me to be kind to myself , especially when it comes to the passion I have for writing and THAT IS ENOUGH.
Caveat, As I was finishing this blog I yelled “you bring this wrath upon yourselves” in reference to me having to put the game controllers on top of the TV and shut down mine-craft.
* footnote, I stole the “No f*&% given monthly” phrase from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart
This blog is like the ridiculous sweater I bought at Anthropologie a few years ago. It was on sale and the sales lady told me "it looks awesome on you." It's the most bizarre sweater, and whether it looked good on me or not, is highly debatable. Like these blogs, I look at them at say "Yeesh, what was I thinking,," or laugh or bath in their cathartic qualities. The sweater stays for the same reasons.