I haven’t posted a picture in awhile, and photos really do break up text nicely. 🙂
This is Lily brushing her teeth back in April when Matt’s parents were visiting.
I was thinking about my house again this morning. The thoughts rolled back to money as the solution again. “If we had more money, we could buy stuff so the house would be warmer — not so stark and empty.”
But then I thought, “That can be fixed with paint, not stuff. Stuff is clutter. Paint is color.”
And then my old friend and the topic of this post appeared: fear. I’ve never done anything with any of my homes because I’m afraid I lack the creative talent to design a comfortable and inviting home. (Except when I was a small child. Children haven’t learned to judge themselves — and therefore hurt themselves — yet.)
Fear of creating crap interior design, so I don’t even try. Fear of creating a crap book, so I don’t even try. Fear of being ugly, so I don’t even try.
I’ve lived in my personal world of fear for so long, it has become an integral part of my personality. It’s woven into the pattern that is Angel.
But I don’t want to live in fear anymore.
Since it’s a part of my personality, it will be difficult to change. I’ve changed my personality in the past, so it’s possible, but not easy. And I’m not even quite sure where to start.
I don’t want to live in fear anymore. I want to create.
Maybe that’s where I start: I want to create.
I don’t have anything amazing to write. I’m trying to get back into the habit of writing journal entries. I haven’t done so for awhile, and I’m a bit stale. But I really enjoy reading my other family members’ journal entries, so I feel I should start up again.
I learn what is going on in my family’s lives when I read their online journals, and also, as I’ve learned from reading Kelsey’s journal, I learn special and wonderful things about the person that I would never have discovered in normal interactions. Since journals are just a place for rambling thoughts, not only do I keep up on the events in their lives, I also get to hear their thoughts. It’s really nice and…. special. Very very special — like a gift. I open the tiny box wrought from silver so precious that it looks like woven moonlight, and inside, shining brightly, is the person’s light. That’s how I feel when I read my family’s online journals — that’s what I see.
So here I am, trying to get back into the habit of writing in my online journal. It’s a lovely way to share thoughts.
I’ve been writing. I added a large section to Chapter One and finished Chapter Two. These are, of course, just drafts and everything will probably be heavily rewritten by the end. So, for anyone who is keeping up with the progress, I’m afraid you really are reading a work-in-progress that will be constantly editted. I hope that’s not too annoying.
They are hiring a junior programmer at Matt’s work, and they looked at the personal webpage of one of the applicants. He was a hardcore goth and obvious outcast geek, and they decided not to interview him because they didn’t think his personality would fit into their workplace culture.
It made me sad that Matt so perfunctorily dismissed an outcast geek. I am an outcast geek. I may not look like it. I don’t program; I don’t watch Star Trek; I don’t ever religiously attend the UT Anime Club anymore, but I am still an outcast geek. (I’m a tree-hugging liberal hippy as well, although I don’t wear any of the hippy accoutrements.) I was one of the nerdy kids in high school who couldn’t talk to boys to save my life and participated in Academic Decathlon. I got A’s in all my classes without studying and aced the SAT like it was a 3rd grade quiz. (And then promptly failed loads of courses in college, like many an outcast geek. We just didn’t know how to study since we never had to before.) Anyways, that made me a little sad, to see one of my own not even given a chance.
The other thing that occurred to me: I wonder if my online presence will ever influence some real life situation like this fellow’s webpage lost him the interview. I wouldn’t change my online space. Part of me lives here now, and it’s a comfortable place for me. I like it. But it is interesting to think how our little virtual presence effects the physical world we live in.
I should probably write now. I’ve been putting it off for a couple of days. I don’t want to fall out of the habit.
I’m in a much better mood today. I was feeling very trapped by Lily yesterday which I think is pretty obvious by the entry.
That’s the thing about journals: they are like photographs in that they capture a single moment in time. But life isn’t static, and so moods, thoughts, actions — everything — constantly moves. But a journal entry is a written photograph of a moment — a single emotion or idea captured in words.
(It’s nice to be writing again, even if it’s just journal entries. I haven’t written in a very very long time.)
Toddlers are just so much work. Mothers of grown-up children always tell me, “Oh, before you even blink, they are 25 and moved out of the house. It happens too fast.” And I want to reply, “Not when you have a toddler. When you have a toddler, time stands still.” But I don’t say that. I will probably be saying the same exact thing they are saying when Lily is 25-years-old.
I read a comic strip by Shannon Wheeler where one of the characters said, “Somewhere between expectation and nostalgia, you think I would have been happy.” It seems a very sad statement, but there is a bit of truth to it… just a bit. I don’t want it to be completely true because it is too sad. But sometimes, the moment is difficult and painful.
Anyways, blah blah blah — I’m feeling much better now. I’m off to Taco Cabana with the Munchkin to get some breakfast now.
I’ve been trying to form some identity other than “Lily’s mom.” I feel like I don’t exist anymore; I am merely an extension of Lily. I have been consumed by a toddler. Even as I write this, I am standing up at my desk to type because if I sit down she will crawl over me. Between every other word, I stop to take something she has grasped from my desk and return it but farther up on the desk just beyond her reach.
I can do nothing that I want to do. It’s difficult to even write a journal entry. I only exist for her.
And I am so sad…. so so sad. Each day is a weight; each minute feels like indentured servitude. And I’m angry at being in this situation.
And then there is the inevitable guilt for even thinking these thoughts. A endless loop of guilt, sadness, and anger. Looping and looping and looping, day after day.
I love her so much, and I’m missing these precious moments in her life as my vision and emotions are covered with so much unhappiness.
I’ve got to change something, but what? This isn’t right for either her or I.
I’m so unhappy….
I keep having a horse show up in my daydreams. I don’t do my thinking only in words — I think a lot in pictures, metaphors, and symbols. Perhaps a lot of people think this way, I don’t know. But I definitely do.
And then my conscious mind has to interpret the symbols. It’s actually a lot of fun. When I was younger, from a small child through my college years, I thought in symbols and metaphors a lot. Then my mind became more literal and lingual. For many years, the metaphors were gone. I missed them. It was always fun interpreting the images.
And then out of nowhere, after years of literal thinking, along comes a horse. It was when I was feeling happy and free, my mind would show me a horse galloping with freedom and majesty. Sometimes I would be riding the horse, sometimes it was just the horse running in the wild.
At first I thought, “Oh that’s a pretty image” and give it no more thought. The metaphors had been missing from my life for so long. But the horse kept coming back again and again. Then I would be petting the horse, stroking him under the neck and feeling his muscle, strength, and his unbounded freedom and happiness with my hands.
I finally got the hint. My mind was giving me a symbol, or the universe was giving me a message. Something.
So I looked up horse animal totems on the net. However, none of the information I found helped. None of it corresponded to what I was feeling. There was a disconnect between the information on the web and the feelings inside me when this horse would visit.
Then, when the horse showed up again, majestic and beautiful — full of life and love — I simply asked him, “Why are you here?” And he said, “Let go.”
That’s all he would say whenever I asked a question. “Let go.”
Let go of the fear that’s holding me back. Let go of the lack of self-confidence. Let go of the cage I have kept myself in. Let go and live.
It’s nice to be thinking in metaphors again. I highly recommend it. Although the answers do sometimes come in riddles.
So I’ve been writing every day while the baby takes her nap. And writing can be very difficult sometimes because you don’t know if what you have written is utter shite or not. So I have a quote I have been repeating to myself to keep the doubt at bay: What would you do if you knew you could not fail?
So the doubt came creeping at my doorstep today, and I repeated my mantra: “What would you do if you knew you could not fail?” I would write a book. And not just a book — a masterpiece — a novel that would touch someone.
I would connect.
And that’s when it dawned on me why I write. It’s to connect. Other people go to parties or talk on the phone. I write. I write to connect… to feel another.
And now I know why I love to write. It’s a lovely reason, don’t you think? 🙂
I’ve been surfing blogs, and quite a few blogs post a picture with each entry. I really like this idea. I probably won’t post a picture with every entry, but I am going to start posting pictures. Photos are very entertaining.
This is my super amazing husband (sometimes I can’t believe my luck in having him for a husband) and my beautiful daughter in a trackie that her Auntie Shelly bought her for her first birthday.
Writing is actually fun this time. I’m going slower and not putting so much pressure on myself to already be finished. I’m trying to craft each sentence, each paragraph. It’s a lot of fun.
But it does take time. I probably spent four hours on writing today. I don’t know if I can spend that kind of time everyday. I still need to cook, do the dishes, the laundry, balance the check register, pay the bills, take Lily to her playdates, give Lily her bath, etc etc etc. Being a housewife is a tough gig. And very time-consuming. But writing offers me peace so I can be a better mom and wife, so I think it’s necessary to keep it in the normal routine.