It may not seem it, but it is a struggle to cut my wrists and spill out everything inside of me with one magical post. Writing isn’t alien to me, as much as the mood I need to be in - to be capable of writing. I know it when it strikes me, my focus narrows in and the words tumble over themselves to make it to the page (or screen). I often write so quickly in those moods that I miss full phrases I meant to impart and I backspace to accommodate my large fingers, the tiny keys - and the resulting mistakes I make.

Silence, yes, silence helps because it allows the voice in my head to bloom and speak louder than any other influence. Perhaps it’s that my world hasn’t been silent of late. Perhaps it is that reason, that one thing that I can point to as my exclamation, my reason. It would be a lie.

I’ve been hiding my writing. I hide it because I hate the speculation it would engender.

‘Who does he mean?’ Who indeed. The beauty of writing is that sometimes it is a purely speculative piece. Sometimes the ‘you’ is based on many and not one, and sometimes knowing that one piece biases you to the message contained within. Sometimes it gives you a power you shouldn’t own.

Yes, knowing those things gives you depth that you may crave, especially from one so reserved about damn near everything as I am. I think, however, sometimes self-denial is the best route to take. Sometimes making the choice not to muck into the depths of a mystery is not a choice made from fear, but from wisdom.

‘What does it mean?’ Whatever you want to to mean. What meaning I assign it will always be different from yours. This is no quiz, with one right answer and a million wrong ones. It’s written art, always appreciated by a certain crowd, and always seen with their bias, with their lives and their jaded eyes. What does it mean to you?

My take on slavery and the doormat girlfriend/wife is known to you if you’ve read back any distance. It just isn’t for me, because my opinion should never always be a match for yours. I like the potential for a heated argument, and I also don’t believe that opinion you hold should be silenced because it doesn’t support mine.

I don’t know what it all means, but I’ve been hiding my writing.

Even from you.

and you.

and you.

I’ve spent the day chez moi, delving even further into the murk that makes up my complex and rather off-putting emotional make up. No music today, rather I’ve favored the silence that comes with work and general household toil. I like the peace it offers me, to be in quiet. I am an introvert by nature, although most would not describe me this way after seeing my social mask.

I try to write with it off, because it isn’t truthfully who I am. I am, however, used to playing a role. I am adaptive to almost any role. It is what makes me successful. It is what engenders trust in me as a whole - knowing that the curve ball won’t cause me to miss the home run.

People fall in love with him. My mask. He is what you want or need him to be. He is the quarterback, the all-star, the CEO, the lover, the confidant and the best friend rolled neatly into one person. He is me and yet not me. He, never questions his choices. I do. He never , ever, fails. I, regrettably, do. And he never gets hurt. I do.

This isn’t coming on the heels of a loss. This introspection isn’t caused by anything other than
my greedy, and yes, sometimes egocentric nature. In times like this, I value the people in my life. I could name them here, but would undoubtedly leave someone absent from the list.

When I am raw, my mask retired, they are what keep me sane. They offer, but don’t condemn. They take, yes, but always give back. If you are that person, thank you for the shelter. It’s the only thing that saves me from myself.

…oh and for the record, I love writing. If I didn’t get it out of my head, my brain would explode or melt down from everything striking together…

I’m leaving tomorrow to spend a few days in Phoenix. I had a conference there a few years ago, and loved the temperature, if not the endless sea of rocks. If I didn’t like grass and other green things, that would be the place I’d stay.

I’m taking friends with me, and I’ll still be writing. This trip was a freebie that I hadn’t used. It’s now become a ‘use it or lose it’ thing, and I couldn’t pass on that kind of fun. Hiking, rock climbing… general fun and amusement to be had…

Reluctance to publish isn’t new to me. I have drafts pending since 2006 - things that are too good to discard, but too evil to countenance or too personal to reveal. Not everything inside my head is open for debate and speculation.

As to the ending… Wait for it… and hope the damn thing doesn’t stay in my drafts for a few years.

(more…)