This summer, this last couple of months, the last year, the last two years, it's been a particular season. It seems like I am constantly off kilter. So busy merely surviving that I can't live. It's deeper than this season. I have been an adult in the eyes of the law for long enough that my daughter is now an adult in the eyes of the law. Parents make sacrifices. Big hearted people make sacrifices. I made a lot of sacrifices. Some I am 100% okay with but some in the last 2-4 years, maybe longer, were not wise.
Someone once told me that they believed that for me writing and breathing were pretty much the same. I never really thought about it. I just like to write. I like art. I like to write. I like to create. It's just what I do. Creativity is the closest one can get to knowing what it is like to be God and to be one with God. Everyone always thought I would be a writer when I grew up. (Good news, according to my runaway husband I haven't, so there is still time!) I started out college in theater. I always recognized that poets needed to eat. But I never really attempted anything huge. Always so scared of the rejection. My biggest writing accomplishments to date are winning a Bill Morrissey CD from WYSO because I penned a quick poem to Vick Mickunas of which all I remember is"Oh why, oh why must they disparage me and my 91.3" and getting honorable mention in a poetry contest for a piece called "Easter" that was a nice piece of angst about my imaginary boyfriend calling me up drunk on Easter eve. As an aside, the imaginary boyfriend is a real person, imaginary is just a title he fell into somehow.
Anyway, as this consciousness streams on, as I keep on keeping on, keep on pushing, I have these moments. I miss a random something I used to do. I don't know why some other thing stopped being done. I get flashes of consuming creativity at inopportune times. I know all of what was still is there. But you know sometimes those first few cookies out of the press are not so great, so I just quietly thought is was some random whatever to cope or you know the system just clearing itself out of junk.
Then I went to California. I didn't even have an aching in my heart. I had a long time to just be and observe and apparently some rapid decompression happened. I wrote. I wrote poetry. Mostly I have been stuck in blog and journal mode which is mostly non-fiction. Oh but I wrote something. Something that made me wish I had study hall next hour because I was so in love with my brilliance. Moments like that, they are rare when I write.
So yeah. I miss me. I miss being creative. Writing, painting, drawing, sewing, some where, somehow I got lost in the shuffle of my own life.
Some day, I will write about it.
Stop reverse that. I really want to share this poem. Really, really, really I do. It's not time. I can't quite defend myself on the back end. It's a beautiful poem. It's just that it's a scathingly honest, wistful, sorrow-filled piece of free verse. Maybe some day I will share it.
No, today, or tonight rather, I am going to serenade myself with multiple versions of this old gem.I let myself, let me feel less than. I have no excuse. It's time to move to the next level. Until then, sing it with me...
Maybe I didn't treat you
Quite as good as I should have
Maybe I didn't love you
Quite as often as I could have
Little things I should have said and done
I just never took the time