“How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, … how old my heart.”

There are so many things I need to be doing right now, today, this weekend. Sitting on my ass writing is not among them. But THEY(them?), or the words, or something, keep telling me to write.  And to cry.  Whatever it is that calls to me, or feeds me words, and takes my breath away with emotions I didn’t expect washing over me in a random moment, and tears, has fucked timing, because I really do have a lot to do. So here I sit.

And now the bastards abandon me with their direction to write still burning in me, nothing but my scattered, cloudy thoughts to keep me company, and a song playing over and over because it says without saying, everything that I ache to hear but never imagined I’d ever be hearing, and in the moments I am able to focus on it, I find my balance again.

There have been 3333 thoughts flipping through my head this week, most of them today.  I know there are words that I (too) give in disguise, if at all, but mostly I say not at all,  and in the holding back of these, the others also get sometimes paused. Not that these words are reliant on, or related to, those words. Except its all related in some way that I never end up knowing until long after the fact, which actually makes me happy because “…the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine…”

But meanwhile, words unsaid are currently playing the role of some sort of dialogue condom; catching all the rest of the words I’m meant to say, too. Or maybe its not even that, maybe the words don’t even get that far, maybe I have verbal blue balls. Or both, dependent on the day. I can’t begin to explain male ejaculation, and lack thereof, as my analogy of choice in this moment, but I’ve decided to just roll with myself, in all my glorious weird/possibly disgusting-ness.

Discovery or memory that Art; paintings, drawings, sketches, can make me cry, like music does. Like ballet does. I’d either forgotten that until this week past while at the Guggenheim, or I never knew. Not all art, to be sure. Some of it leaves me cold, and some of it I’m convinced a toddler could create the equal of. But the pieces I feel, and to be surrounded by works of masters, even those whose work I personally think is shit, made me cry.

And then there was Miss Saigon. To risk a Bogart-esque “gin joint” moment, …of all the shows in all the theaters currently playing in NYC, my sister chose that one to be the one we saw… Was given fair warning by her that she’d cried the first time she saw it, and fair warning too that Unicorn tears had been shed, so mine weren’t unexpected. What was unexpected was how 2 parts of the story line resonated so deeply with me. And a couple of the songs…. I was a goner.

Perhaps equal to that emotion, was the emotion of watching those living a life of which I used to dream, come to fruition. Not because I wanted ever to be rich/famous. I mean, I’ll take rich because money makes life easier, if you’re not an asshole about it, but, never was my desire for life on a stage of whatever kind, about that.

So as I sat there, hearing a song of a sun and moon, of lives so different from one another, and unexpected love, and thinking of my little girl dreams of dancing ballet, of singing, and acting, or combining them, and how I was told so many times by those who are supposed to encourage dreams, I wasn’t “enough” (good enough, realistic enough, skinny enough) or was too much (mostly too much boobs and ass, but also, too much smart for “that” sort of life) and how I let my dreams get wiped away, I got sad.  The sadness lasted only for a moment before the beauty took me away, but it was unexpected, and healing. A healing I didn’t know that I needed, which has been a recurring theme lately.

This writing and I are not friends right now. The words don’t come, and the emotions are exhausting, and I know enough now to know that I am not crazy, but it’s a little crazy making when, in spite of arms thrown wide open, and absolute surrender to what is so much bigger than I ever imagined, so much bigger than me, I am unable to exhale. And I really, really, thought it was time, to exhale.

 

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