I'm Waxing Poetic, Because Poetic is a Hairy Beast
Oh, sure, it means you're feeling words of poetry about life in general, which probably means you're being sentimental and annoying.
Sometimes when I'm feeling particularly reflective or nostalgic, I think I'm waxing poetic. And then I stop being reflective and start thinking about "What does waxing poetic mean, exactly?" Oh, sure, it means you're feeling words of poetry about life in general, which probably means you're being sentimental and annoying. And the term was coined long before hair removers, I'm sure. But I do feel sorry for the term, just like I feel sorry for guys named "Dick". Might not have been a big deal in the 50's, but you just don't want to be referred to as "dick' anymore, and no one, god help us, is called "Pussy" either.
So what was I waxing on and off about? The 4th of July. It was my first holiday without the kids and I felt an intense sadness, not only for being without them, but for the loss of our family and the fantasy of a family. Even when I was the stay-at-home mom and cooking and had the husband and the kids, I still missed the fantasy. In my mind, there's an intense comfort in being a family that I never actually felt. But now I can't even pretend I have it, whereas before, I could at least make others believe I did. Now, it's clear, I'm a single mom...and there isn't really anything funny about that.
Sorrow lends itself to bad writing and poetry I think.
So here's a bad ode to the 4th of July. Read it out loud, and in your worst beatnik imitation:
ODE TO THE 4th
O, day of birth for America
O, day we celebrate independence with hot
weiners
from the grille.
I love the explosions in the sky
It echoes the explosions
of my heart when I think of
you.
Yeah. Supremely bad poetry always makes me feel good. Now wax that Poetic. He needs it.
Writing is the same thing as having a relationship, only you're doing it with yourself.
"Easy Does It" is available to purchase and selling like hot cakes, which means not at all, because no one (not even grandmothers) orders hot cakes any more.
I'm trying to start a new project, but my heart still belongs to the old one: "Blunder Woman". Writing is a bit like dating...you have the courtship period, then the frustrating and exhilirating long relationship where you figure everything out..but the trouble is, all the projects (and I'm discovering, again, this is like relationships) come to an end. Then you have the break up and the crying and the sudden weight gain due to too many cocktails, cookies, cake and just saying aw-fuck-it and eating the cheetos too.
Okay. That last part might just be my issue.
My point is, with writing, you have the initial excitement, the relationship, and then the breakup. The real trouble comes when you try to start something new.
I'm working on a new piece and one of the main character's names is Pepper Wellington. Trouble is, when I sit down, I'm still thinking about Chloe Knaggs, my dear alter-ego, my Blunder Woman. The greater trouble is, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't manage something awkward and embarrssing and it helps to write about them. So like the old relationship, I'm looking backward at the previous book with longing, even though it's over. I should be focusing on Pepper Wellington. Maybe there's something there. Maybe if I just give it a little time, a little focus, a little commitment, it will all work out!
Now I don't even know if I'm talking about relationships or writing.
Here's what I do know: I got yet another rejection for "Blunder Woman" today. "Easy Does It" is available to purchase and selling like hot cakes, which means not at all, because no one (not even grandmothers) orders hot cakes any more. I have a staged reading on Monday that I pray people are coming to and will enjoy. I have a new book I should be working on but can't seem to get connected with. And on top of all of it, I'm just plain depressed.
*sigh*
What do I do with this besides see a therapist? Write another line of Pepper Wellington. Hope she takes me somewhere. Hope that in my real life, I can relax a bit and enjoy all the embarrassing mess ups because I seem to have a talent for it. And maybe, just tonight, because it's the 4th and all, I'll have one more cookie. It's not like I'm going to explode or anything. Nope. Explosions will be in the sky from fireworks. (I'm reminding myself of this so when they go off I don't have a heart attack.)
Happy 4th all.
I'm Seriously Becoming Blunder Woman
So I walk up to the studio and catch my reflection in the glass where it was like I really had X-ray vision, only the only thing I could see through were my own clothes!
"Blunder Woman" started as a clever title, but now, really, I think it's who I am. Only without the cape. As Blunder Woman, my fashion taste is deplorable. I keep trying. Really. If I only had money, and a makeup artist, and a fashion designer, then I'd just be fine. Case in point: I'm currently wearing tight yellow pajama pants and a black tank top. I'm either channeling a bumblebee or a depressed hooker.
At any rate, I had one of those days where I just couldn't get anything right. I tried to look cute and wore this multi-colored sundress, which, apparently was entirely see-through even in low-lighting. Why I chose to wear orange boy-boxers underpants today, I don't know. And they were underpants. Not cute like panties. They offer support and coverage and they're orange. But not, dare I say it, sexy.
This little dress also showed a bit of cleavage, which I tried to be okay with. I started the day without a bra but just couldn't channel that hippie-unshaven-earth-goddess-mother that I think of as going braless so I also put on a black push-up bra, which is one size too small because I bought the wrong one.
So I walk up to the studio and catch my reflection in the glass where it was like I really had X-ray vision, only the only thing I could see through were my own clothes! What a pointless power! There I was: huge orange underwear, and a black push-up bra that made my boobs point to the heavens and jiggle, yes, like a plate of Jello. I actually watched my own boobs jiggling as I approached the door. I was transfixed...sort of the way you'd be transfixed if an enromous blob was coming to eat you, slowly jiggling closer and closer to you and you just couldn't run. Because you're incredibly stupid.
And then I entered the studio. Did a little narration for my demo, questioning, again, if all the money I'm spending on my business will come back to me...or am I just going to come off as some desperate divorcee with dreams of stardom and she's well-past her prime. You know, sort of like a character in a 1950's melodrama.
The engineers didn't say anything about my get up. I did catch a flicker of horror at my jiggling though.
Ugh. Maybe all this self-doubt is because I have a birthday coming up. Or maybe it's the moon. One of these days, I'm going to feel like I chose just the right outfit and said just the right thing and all will be well. Yep. Any minute now.
Blogging is Cheaper than Therapy
BRAIN WHILE WRITING THIS: Just go on Xanax, Tanya. Your mom says it's great.
On my run this morning I was huffing and puffing and sweating just lacing my shoes. Muggy out. Like someone breathing on you. And there I went. 2 minutes later, I was covered in sweat and trying to focus my brain cells on something other than the pain and stupidity of running.
Why was I doing this to myself? WHY? Because I weighed myself this morning and I weigh 150 pounds. Christ. How did this happen? I think I know. I broke up with my husband, started eating food that made me happy, stopped exercising because I've been so busy getting my career ignited, and I've been drinking wine. A lot of wine. So now...I'm fat....but happy.
There's the tradeoff I guess.
Grrrrr.
I also growl a lot now when I'm not questioning every decision I've ever made.
An Example of How my Brain Works (aka obsessing)
BRAIN: I'm going to record an audio version of my book that I've just self-published! "Easy Does It" audio version is going to be fantastic!
BRAIN WHILE RECORDING: Holy moly. I sound horrible. This is terrible. Horrible!! The Horror!
BRAIN AFTER RECORDING: That was fun. I loved that.
BRAIN TWO DAYS AFTER RECORDING: Why did I do that? WHY? No one's going to listen to it. Or worse, what if they listen to it and hate it?
TWO SECONDS LATER, BRAIN: Everyone hates me. I'm a loser. I need to eat something. And drink. I need to eat and drink.
BRAIN WHILE EATING FROZEN CHOCOLATE CAKE AND DRINKING RED WINE: I love you. I love me. I love my life.
