|Maybe, sorta. I dunno... AM I?|
ISGF: What are you doing? What, what, what are you doing?
M: Um... not sure.
ISGF: Who do you think you are with the writing and the goals and the going out in public and are you really going to wear that?
M: They're my pajamas. I write in my pajamas.
ISGF: You've been wearing those pajamas for 63 hours. And what's with all the holes in those things?
M: They're my Eeyore pants. *puts on Stitch voice* They're old and they're worn but they're still good. Yeah, still good.
ISGF: First of all, no. Second, those aren't pants anymore and third, you need to shower, fix that wild woman hair, put real clothes on, close these browser tabs and make those boys do chores before electronics. What kind of mother are you anyway?
M: Um, I don't know?
ISGF: Thinks she's going to be a writer, singer and a social butterfly and can't even put on pants. What a bitch. *nods and finger snaps* Yeah, she's a stupid bitch.
Yes. This is an actual example of what goes on in my head.
Really, what am I doing? Ego stroking? Attention whoring? Prancing around the interwebs thinking I'm witty and charming? Baring my soul to the masses (ISGF: 25 people aren't "the Masses", Sweetie.) and figuratively gutting myself? Thinking I'm Special?
No, I do not have the energy for the Church Lady so go back to your corner and SHUT UP!
As previously mentioned in Instant Gratification, I'm hoping there's something worth saying... Something people can relate to. Maybe encourage, entertain or enlighten as I use writing for therapy and a creative outlet. Maybe receive a little validation of my own. Also, it wouldn't hurt if this went viral at some point and got a book deal and a small but award winning indie film producer bought the movie rights to my story* so I can somehow financially contribute to the family and never again worry about how we'll pay for food by the last week of every month.
I'd settle for growing enough as a writer to do the occasional guest post on other blogs or sell an essay or two.
I'd also settle for not feeling nauseous each time I open a new post.
Scary Feelings! EVASIVE MANEUVERS! ABORT ABORT!
To be perfectly honest, writing again is every bit as emotionally draining as therapy was... especially the first couple of years when I replayed every moment of a session I could remember to over-analyze just how crazy and hopeless I was.
At least blogging is free. I could be paying to feel this terrified and overwhelmed.
So, there is that.
Incidentally, while writing this, I had the following real conversation with Charlie...
C: You okay?
M: Yeah. Just having my mid-day panic attack*.
C: Oh, okay.
I don't know if it's comforting or disturbing we're so casual about it.
*Sassy Gay Friend & Imaginary Sassy Gay Friend should not be confused with The Fabulous who is my real life SGF.
*Ellen Page could totally do The Crew. Wait, that sounds wrong... You know what I mean.
*I'm not minimizing panic attacks here. *sigh* reads better than *flails and hyperventilates*.