To Quote Victoria Jackson at the SNL Reunion: What Happened to ME?
I am by nature a nurturer. I have always been so. I love doing for people, whatever is in my power to do.
But.
Sometimes, I get so tired of pretending to be a stable, almost stereotypical, Mom-type woman, I could scream. I love my house, yeah, I love my kids, yeah, I love to cook and sew and all that domestic shit, yeah, but what happened to ME? Somewhere in all this, I got lost. Or I lost part of me, or something. The me I am now isn't the real me.
What happened to the wild chick with mega-long blonde hair and eyes that could flash a glance that would make the Pope renounce celibacy? (and what happened to the guy who told me that, I wonder?) Where did my motorcycle go? And why don't my size 3 leather jeans fit any more?
I used to pin a bandanna to the circle of metal around my neck and then tie it in back and wear it in public.
I hate it that most of the people in my life now have no idea what I am really like.
I know what I used to think about older people when I would watch them go about their business, all boring and staid and unexciting and sadly without fun and how they must have always been that way, born that way, never any other way.
When I think that kids now are looking at me that same way I want to scream and shake them and say "Look, kid, when I was your age you wouldn't have been able to HANDLE ME!!"
And the truth is, they wouldn't have been able to handle me. Few could. Damn, I was good. I was wild.
The most exciting part of me, though, was that not many people suspected. I could turn it on or off, as the spirit moved me.
That on-off switch is still there. I know where it is. It's just that it's now off-limits in this life that somehow chose me, or maybe I chose it because I was afraid of something, but what? I don't know for sure.
But when your boyfriend of four wild and crazy years is diagnosed with terminal cancer and all hell is breaking loose all around you, sometimes, sometimes, you run away and do something so outlandishly NOT you that you stand back and watch it unfold like a stranger at a wedding, which is what I pretty much was at mine.
I have not been myself for many years. Lately, however, I have been juggling the possibility of shucking it all and being ME again.
Too bad I'm such a wad of chickenshit. . . .
But.
Sometimes, I get so tired of pretending to be a stable, almost stereotypical, Mom-type woman, I could scream. I love my house, yeah, I love my kids, yeah, I love to cook and sew and all that domestic shit, yeah, but what happened to ME? Somewhere in all this, I got lost. Or I lost part of me, or something. The me I am now isn't the real me.
What happened to the wild chick with mega-long blonde hair and eyes that could flash a glance that would make the Pope renounce celibacy? (and what happened to the guy who told me that, I wonder?) Where did my motorcycle go? And why don't my size 3 leather jeans fit any more?
I used to pin a bandanna to the circle of metal around my neck and then tie it in back and wear it in public.
I hate it that most of the people in my life now have no idea what I am really like.
I know what I used to think about older people when I would watch them go about their business, all boring and staid and unexciting and sadly without fun and how they must have always been that way, born that way, never any other way.
When I think that kids now are looking at me that same way I want to scream and shake them and say "Look, kid, when I was your age you wouldn't have been able to HANDLE ME!!"
And the truth is, they wouldn't have been able to handle me. Few could. Damn, I was good. I was wild.
The most exciting part of me, though, was that not many people suspected. I could turn it on or off, as the spirit moved me.
That on-off switch is still there. I know where it is. It's just that it's now off-limits in this life that somehow chose me, or maybe I chose it because I was afraid of something, but what? I don't know for sure.
But when your boyfriend of four wild and crazy years is diagnosed with terminal cancer and all hell is breaking loose all around you, sometimes, sometimes, you run away and do something so outlandishly NOT you that you stand back and watch it unfold like a stranger at a wedding, which is what I pretty much was at mine.
I have not been myself for many years. Lately, however, I have been juggling the possibility of shucking it all and being ME again.
Too bad I'm such a wad of chickenshit. . . .
posted by Eyre at 11:20 AM
4 Comments:
They call that growth and wisdom I think, but sometimes it's overrated.
I say GO FOR IT - life's too short to not run naked through a mall.
I've already run naked through the top floor of the university library.
Try the main floor. During finals week. Now THAT'S a good time.
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