This being the one morning I could have slept in, of course I’m up at 5 a.m. Couldn’t resist the dark and the quiet. Plus I guess I’m still rolling a bit too fast.
What I am NOT up to do is finish the story I’ve been tinkering with because – ta da! It’s already done and sent out to a publisher. My bro swore he was gonna try to take a nap yesterday, which he did, for about 40 minutes. It was enough. I was still editing when he got up, but by then I was at the final read through. Snipped an adverb (One of like 3 I used in an 1800 word story. That’s new. Used to be here an adverb, there an adverb, everywhere an adverb.) and modified a wonky paragraph that I didn’t want so wonky. I let my fragments stand, no matter how often my computer kept alerting me with jagged lines under parts of the story. Sometimes I want that sharp fragment in a story. It’s kind of shocking to readers when you go along all good with grammar and then bam! Fragment out of left field. Gives people a bit of a slap as they read, or at least I think so. Let’s hope the publishers think so, too.
I’m proud of this last literary venture. I’ve finally addressed my body issues via fiction. Here’s the first line:
The fat girl in high school knew she was the fat girl.
And the story is titled ‘Beautiful’. Somehow, with a few snips and well placed words, I managed to convey just about all the issues I had with my mother into three sentences. It’s sparse and shattering and everything I wanted it to be. The ending was a bit of a surprise to me; I wanted to end on the word ‘beautiful’ but somehow it just wasn’t the right way to finish. Five sentences now pad out the ass end of ‘beautiful’ and it leaves even me, the writer, asking what happens next? I think that’s pretty good. And I’ve got a feeling I could write more…
Today’s the day: to party or not party. La Sabrosona has requested I give my young man a name rather than calling him ‘that young guy that keeps flirting with me at open mic night’. 😉 So for now, let’s call him Ben after the dude in The Graduate. Ben’s party is tonight. The thought of that is what really got me up. Yeah, I know I’m lowering my chances of showing up just by getting out of bed at 5 a.m. And knowing that makes me want to dig in my heels (stubborn cuss that I am) and go tonight all the more. I’ve foreseen two polar opposites (big surprise?) as possible outcomes. First, I walk in and there’s loads of people there and Ben barely notices I’ve come. I feel out of place and uncomfortable. Second, I walk in and there’s only a dozen or so people there and Ben is v happy I’ve come. I’m welcome and glad I got out of the house.
… LOL! Well. The story I just finished hinges on a party I went to when I graduated high school (yes. I was the fat girl in high school). Maybe I wrote that fucker right NOW for a reason. See, way back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I graduated from high school, I went to a party at the house of THE most popular football playing prom king gorgeous guy I had a massive crush on. I felt really out of place there, but by the end of the night I’d not only found my footing and my confidence, I’d learned about a whole other side of myself: the side of me other people saw. I knew and didn’t know everyone at the party: I went to school with them, but they were all the popular kids and jocks, while I was a burn-out singer and drama geek. I heard a lot about how they had perceived me while we were at school, and it wasn’t at all the way I’d imagined it. So maybe tonight will be an echo of that story. I guess at the very least, I may get another short story out of it. That makes it worth going…Right?
*spaz attack* I really want to brew another pot of coffee right now and roll 10 joints and just burn the day away….
Well-l-l-l, seeing as I DON’T have to spend time finishing up the story because it’s already done, maybe I CAN let myself zone out for an hour or two. Hook into my computer and jack up my music on iTunes while the visualizer runs. Gee, can I make it more obvious I’m a toker? Or, as they say here, that I ‘blownen’ (pronounced ‘bloe-eh’)? Well, what the fuck. I’m not a criminal here and that feels good, so yeah! I’m a pothead. Mornings like this are one of the reasons why I started smoking so much….Up way to early and unable to continue sleeping even tho I know I’m tired. My head won’t shut up. Again. Still. At least right now it’s stuff that I find interesting and engaging, not horrible and degrading. My head talks about my stories, my music, my blogging, the party, making friends, opening up. It’s not telling me right now that I can’t do any of that. It’s saying ‘Look at all the opportunities! Go for it! You can do it!’ And I want to do it, and keep doing it, and do some more. Let’s be clear: that’s mania, or some form of it, right?
More than likely I’ll be dozing in my chair by 4 in the afternoon. That’s ok. I can nap, then freshen up and head out. I really feel like I should give this party a chance, give Ben a chance, despite all my fears. I’m gonna try to make myself feel as safe as possible, so I want to go thinking that I’ll only stay long enough to check in, say hello and wish him a happy birthday, then make my excuses and leave. Guerrilla style partying. If the vibe is good and I feel ok, I’ve got permission to stay longer. But I won’t plan that. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about PLANNING to stay there. So no, little bird. Don’t worry about STAYING there. Only think about GETTING there. Hello, here’s your gift, happy birthday, good bye. That’s all I’m asking you to do today. We can do that. I’m right here with you, even when you think I’m not. It’s always ‘we’. You are never alone.
Oh, that little girl inside me is fucking scared! Ducking her head down and shaking.
And for once, I’m not gonna tell her to stop. I’m not going to berate myself into some sort of screwed up courage thing. I’ve done that all my life and I’m still going round and round this fucking un-merry-go-round. No. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be anxious. I/We can do this, and it can be done in a different way. I don’t have to drink or blow my brains out before going. I don’t have to over do anything while I’m there. I can be scared and shy. I don’t speak the fucking language well (despite what the instructors say, damn it!) so being a little scared and shy is NATURAL. I’m feeling the way anybody else would, going out to a party where you know only one person and don’t speak the native language. Get a grip. Perspective.
Yeah. Perspective. Take a new look at yourself, from a different angle. Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing with my writing…