Summertime, and the livin's easy... PART I

Warning: This post ended up going off on several tangents, having multiple conclusions and became way, way too long. I've had to split it into two separate posts. In light of this, the next line is going to seem incredibly ironic by the end.

I haven't posted much this month because I haven't had much to say.
Wait, that's not really true. I've had a non-stop torrent of words filling my brain and tormenting me in a ceaseless loop - but not of the kind I felt like sharing with the world.

My editing goals for June have stagnated and a foul whiff of failure has been hovering like too much cologne whenever I get near Scarlet and sit down in front of her red-lit keyboard. 

In case you haven't met before, let me introduce you to Scarlet. This pic is from back when she was new and shiny, before I filled her with dream-like scenes, surreal worlds of wonder and so many, many countless words. She's sexy and she damn well knows it.

After an intensely inspired and productive month in May, June was swift to kick me in the gut and make sure May hadn't given me any illusions of grand productivity on the horizon.

I've re-written / edited two chapters in 22 days.
Two.
I wrote two whole books in 22 days last month.
Fuck.

So, my writing life has hit another lull - mostly because my brain is currently obsessed with other things, ideas and emotions which have little to do with the novel at hand.

My countless doctor visits over the past few months have been one of them. MRIs, throbbing headaches that last for four to five days straight (as in, wake up with it in the morning and go to bed with it at night in cyclical fashion), blood tests and eye tests and tests that zap your limbs with low electrical current for hours to see how your muscle and nerve connections are functioning, because why the hell is your knee and the left side of your face numb unless it's something horrible and serious?

Anxiety has been a new acquaintance in my plethora of feelings lately. I've never been this jittery and feverishly distracted before. I literally CANNOT SIT STILL the day before my neurologist appointments, yet they all end the same - no diagnosis yet.
More tests, more waiting.
I have another test in a few weeks. An EMG. Needles, needles and more needles.
By the way, have I mentioned before how much I hate needles?
And if that doesn't get us an answer, they're pushing me towards a lumbar puncture.
Fuck.

But maybe there's a silver lining to all this bullshit. The inability to focus on my creative needs, the waiting... waiting... waiting (because I just generally suck at waiting), and the need for distraction to keep my anxiety from overwhelming me completely, has created the perfect storm of having nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and sink into the abyss of my thoughts.

B&W photo I took waaaaay back in High School.

That's a fancy-ass way of saying I've been doing a lot of thinking. 

Soul-searching. Rebooting. Re-evaluating how I've been handling and approaching things lately. I'd say I've had an epiphany, but that's too strong. More like, finally figuring out that something is off after spending an hour staring at a face with no nose.

I don't particularly see a need to lay it all out, but considering the outcome of this realization, I probably should explain a little so I don't WHAM! unexpectedly and freak you all out. It's a personal understanding and one that I'll either embrace and things will change, or I'll forget about and it'll fall to the wayside while I'm swept away by other ideas that will fuel me for awhile.

Photo of a painting I did on a "canvas of skin".

Okay, maybe I'll dig in a little.
I'm a creatively fueled person (yeah I kinda just said that last paragraph, but bare with me) and that burning need to make something from nothing is not always realized through writing. I've done a mess of other things in my short 33 year existence. I've painted practically everything I could get my hands on: murals at school, furniture, people, but strangely never real canvas... Photography was also a big part of my youth. There are actually people in this world who don't know what my hand looks like without a camera in it. I've done sculpture, crochet, costumes, made jewelry, pottery, poetry, philosophy, hair (usually my own, but sometimes others' for fun). I've dabbled in acting on both stage and film (small stuff) but find I'm usually too introverted to really rise to it, though I still enjoyed it immensely. Music has also always been of huge importance in my life. I've played many instruments (drums are still my favorite!), sung in school chorus and written a song or two, but pretty much suck at all of it. Yet, music moves me in ways nothing else can and part of my current shift includes reestablishing my need for it in my daily life.

When I had kids, a lot of my self was left lingering while I focused on the needs of my most momentous creation - a person. Like, holy shit I made a whole, individual person! And this creation is one that never ends. Each day is a new opportunity for life experiences, knowledge gained and love to help them flourish and shape them into the people they will become. But you give so much of yourself to them that sometimes you forget there's a self there in the first place.

I think a lot of parents feel like this.
Children are remarkable - insane, beautiful, frustrating, brilliant, creative beings that bring us awe, exasperation and love all at the same time.
It's easy to get wrapped up in them and forget about you.

The description above is how I feel about my kids and is remarkably similar to the way my husband once described how he perceived me before we got married. We are all remarkable, insane, beautiful, flawed, creative beings that can bring awe and love to those in our lives. We each need to nourish ourselves to remain whole.

It's Throwback Thursday, right? An old pic from college captures my current mood.

I can't neglect myself or my creative needs.
I've abandoned things I was drawn to because they weren't child-appropriate. Music that moved me was silenced because the content was unsuitable for little ears.
Time is never my own, it's shared. So are decisions.
Clothes that make me feel good are left on the shelf, because I don't want my daughter's friends to tease her about her "weird mom" who wears combat boots and suspenders with electric blue jeans and orange hair. I don't want my choices to negatively influence my kids' life experiences.
But all that ends up teaching them is to be fake to fit in.
I just became my own worst fear.

 

Part II will be posted tomorrow.

I need a breath before I continue.

Thanks for reading!