For whatever this may be worth to any of you…know that it is never too late to be who you want to be.
Time is only a limit if you allow it to be. So…start becoming who you chose to become whenever you want! But the choice is yours.
We all have options in life.
We either change who we are, our circumstances, our goals, our everything.
Or we stay stagnant and keep living the life we live. Honestly-there are no rules to this life. We kind of make them up for ourselves as we go. Oh! Yes! There are the standard rules such as be kind, be compassionate, do no harm but take no shit, no white after Labor Day. But the rest?
It is all in our own hands.
We can either make the best or the worst of what we are given.
Personally-I hope each one of you make the best damn YOU there is to make!
I hope each of you see things that still make you gasp in joy. Hear things that bring you to tears. I hope things in life will startle you. Encourage you. Surprise you. Enlighten you.
I hope you can have honest and diverse conversations with people that bring you together-not divide you. I hope that you each feel something that amazes you, something that maybe you had not truly felt before.
Live the life you WANT to live. Be proud of this life, this adventure you are on.
And if you find that you are not happy on your path, please know that you have so many people who love you and will help you find a new, better, different path. All you have to do is ask for the help they offer.
Sometimes you have to start life over. A reboot, if you will. I have done it. It is not easy but I am glad I did it. I was scared to death but I would do it again in a heartbeat!
Be courageous my lovelies! It is never too late, or too early, to be whoever you want to be!
She nibbled her thumb nail. She knew she should stop herself. Twas an old habit that seemed to creep back into play when she was worried.
At the moment she was a mix of all of these things and more. Each thought and emotion a whirling dervish wrecking havoc within the confines of her chest.
She wanted to write. She wanted to free herself of these chains that bound her. She wanted to seize her own life back from other peoples hands. She wanted to live outloud the dreams she had held onto since childhood. her own secret truth.
She wanted. She wanted. She wanted.
Reaching for her pen she finds something worrisome.
Her ink well was dry. No words would find their home on sheets of white that lay surrounding her. A paper fence.
A voice called to her. A resonance so soft it sounded like a whispering breeze.
“The ink is within your heart.”
Looking about her she noticed the shimmer of a Being kneeling next to her. Love and compassion and strength radiated from this beautiful creature. With each breath she took, glittering waves of energy filled her chest, filled her mind, filled her ever waning spirit.
“Within your heart you have the ink you need to create who you wish to become,” the gleaming presence insisted. Not with anger or shame. But firm with determination that she see the truth for herself.
Slowly the Being took her pen, placing it within her hand and guiding it to her chest. Before her eyes, as she dipped the pen nib to her breast, the vial filled with deep red ink.
She was afraid! This cannot be good! This cannot be right!
“But I will die! If I use all of me I will die.”
“Oh child, if you do not use all of you, you never truly lived.”
Holding her breath, her trembling hand held the pen as words released themselves in whirls and flourishes upon the stark bright white fence of paper. Flowing and ebbing as she dipped within herself over and over to continue the sinuous flow of creation. Each thought poured from her pen like holy oil, the ink of her soul anointing paper and hands and body and mind.
With each press of pen to chest to be refilled, she realized that never did she run low on the ink of her heart. Never did the worry arise that this brazen endeavor would end her.
For all of this WAS her!
Each line and scratch and mark and smudge and perfectly imperfect stain was more truly her than any mirror could have shown.
For her true beauty and potency was only able to be realized when she let go of the fear she held onto. For how could she hold onto her life if her hands were full of worry.
This would always be her gift. To be able to dip within herself to find the strength, the nerve, the “ink” to be who she needed to be.
She wanted. She wanted. She wanted.
Encouraged and loved and guided and with her own strength as the catalyst…
it seems today
it’s a bad one
it’s a sad one
it’s getting me
it seems today
I am fighting
I am writing the pain
or am I
will I ever be able to end it
to find the words
to find the hurt
to find my self
it seems today
I am losing
am I choosing
it seems today
I can’t hold on
can’t see beyond
the tears streaming
my voice screaming
making me deaf to
why am I
it seems today
I’m on the wrong end
of happy ever
it seems today
I’m tired to my soul
my tattoos are hurting
from this mental coaster
it seems today
Show of hands please!
Does anyone else pay for a monthly subscription to Netflix and is always scrolling thru the shows, movies, documentaries, whatever is available and constantly clicks on things to add to their Watch List but then, just, never actually watches anything?
Asking for a friend!
How awesome would that be?
Someone to wake me up, bring me tea, remind me of my days agenda. My breakfast will be ready once I have showered and dressed.
The maid will do a quick curtsy and call me “ma’am”. I imagine a British accent. And a uniform.
OH! And one of those little hats!
She’ll do the dishes and fold my laundry. Dust the house
Feed Lulu treats. Feed ME treats.
How amazing would that be?!
Because I hate cleaning my house…and it’s just me!
I hate to cook! And those who know and love me KNOW I have a bad habit of turning on the stove and walking away. I’m not a bad cook. Just an absent minded one.
Though I do make a pretty tasty bowl of cereal! If I remember that milk has an expiration date. And use it BEFORE that date.
A maid would be awesome!
Someone to watch over my erratic habits that, while adorable, are not good for me!
Like being wide awake till 4 am.
(I really need to get better at going to bed the same day I wake up.)
Someone to remind me to eat a decent meal at a decent time so I’m not stuffing my face at midnight because I was busy doing that writing thing I like to do and forgot to eat for several hours and NO chips and dip is NOT a real meal and I really need to stop feeding them to Lulu.
(Do you know I made a grilled cheese at 3am the other morning? Well…actually I made 2. A burnt one and then a not burnt one. My bad!)
It would just be nice to not have to be an adult anymore. Because this is not as fun as I was lead to believe it would be!
OH! Let’s go back to when I was 6! I got to play with knock-off Barbies. Someone else cleaned the house and did my laundry. (I never ran out of clean undies!) I was fed on a very regular basis some very good food. And someone else took care of my hair. What else could anyone want??
Okay. Know what this sounds like I need?
Less a maid and more a mother.
And that’s a huge HELL NO!
Did not work out very well.
Left me with a lot more issues than just a dusty house and burnt pans. Left me with a running mental monolog that still causes me severe self esteem issues while I deal with my childish need for approval and an obsession with bacon.
And honestly my hair is much cuter when I take care of it.
My sisters were always in charge of dressing me and keeping my hair out of my eyes.
Know how they did all of that?
Dressed me in boys jeans, polyester dress pants and men’s t-shirts in various shades of brown, green and navy.
Bad childhood memories are why the color navy makes my skin burn like holy water on Satan!
And we won’t discuss the massacre of what they did to my hair. Just this side of bald. Thank god it grew back.
And you all wonder why I am snottily meticulous when it comes to my being a fabulous Diva!
Grow up being told you are too chubby to wear cute clothes. That only Kmart has clothes that would fit you because they have a husky boys section. And no Pamela Plump you have too fat of feet for those cute shoes so here are some men’s sneakers.
Spend your childhood being reminded you aren’t pretty like your sisters so you don’t need pretty clothes. Not like anyone will want to date you. You just be quiet and your sisters will find some suitable things for you to wear. What?? Makeup?? Are you joking? Oh sweetie! That would be a waste on you. Pearls on a pig! No one is going to notice you anyway!
Whoa Nelly! Where the flying fuck did all of THAT come from?
Wasn’t I talking about wanting a maid?? (Scrolling back…yep! I was and then got derailed.Sigh!)
Yeah! Never mind! I’ve got this!
I am going to go do my dishes. Run a Swiffer duster-thingy over the visible dust particles. And pick up those dog toys I keep tripping over. (Three days in a row! Damn squeaky monkey!)
I am going to finish my laundry. Put away all my pretty clothes. And I will make sure all of my very cute shoes are hanging on the rack behind the door.
I’ll hit Pinterest for some new hair color ideas. (I am in love with this new burgundy color!)
Look at some makeup tutorials on Instagram because-well-MAKEUP!
And I will remind myself that I am an adult and I can get my rump to bed at a decent time for a change. AND make a decent meal without burning it.
Remind myself that I am stronger than those memories. I am in control of who I want to be and how I want to dress and what dreams I want to chase while wearing fabulous shoes and not a damn stitch of navy in my wardrobe!
I will love myself because sometimes the people who were SUPPOSED to love me….forgot.
See? I do not need a maid after all!
I just need me!
Peace my lovelies!
I was politely yelled at by my friend Jon because I hadn’t published anything on my blog in a few weeks.
“Get with the writing,” he said. (Mainly because he keeps giving me story ideas and wants to see them written!) Then his wife told him to leave me alone because I had work to do. (Thank you, Sage!)
But that is kind of my problem.
Not Karma! I am chill with that.
It’s the “getting with the writing” thing.
We all have blocks and fears and worries and life. Things that keep us chained to a past we are trying so hard to walk away from.
Voices that remind you of each and every one of your spectacular failures.
Images of every misguided step you took flash through your mind like a movie on fast forward.
And you try, oh god above you try to shut the door on those moments.
Sometimes you succeed.
Sometimes you fail.
But all of the time…you try.
That is the important thing.
I need to remind myself that even though I set upon living this life of mine a specific way, with a specific goal, I am horrible at directions and got lost at some point! (I am easily distracted by shiny things and ice cream!) But even though I took a wrong turn here and there, and had moments of doubt and total breakdowns, I kept going. Not always in the right direction but I felt movement was better than sitting like a lump in the middle of the road.
Okay! Maybe I should have stopped and restarted my mental GPS but that seemed so boring!
I often imagine my guardian angel cracking open a vodka bottle and shrugging her shoulders going, “Let’s see what happens!” Then giggling like a hyena on crack.
But I was babbling with my sister-in-law about how I feel I am failing right now. Cyndee verbally slapped me upside the head with love! (And an eyeroll!) She proceeded to explain to me all of the things I have been doing recently that, while not a planned part of my goals to become a full time professional writer, are PART of the goals for me to become a full time professional writer.
I forget sometimes that life is all about balance. You do not always need to keep running amok trying to get things done just so you can tick things off some weird mental “To Do” list you have.
Sometimes you have to sit and be silent and just breathe.
Sometimes you have to stop doing, doing, doing and just kick back.
Find that crazy inner hamster and tell it to stop racing on that damn squeaky wheel for an hour!
Then let everything go so that, in your silence, everything can come back to you.
I write a good game of how we each need to be strong in our selves and in our dreams. Most days I am riding that high of “I am Pamela and I am strong and talented! Hear me roar! Grrrr!”
I also get quickly reminded that I am human (despite some arguments to the contrary!) and I need to stop. I need to look around me. I need to find my place again on this weird road trip I am on. (And I need to pee often so there are always potty breaks planned!)
And I will “get with the writing!”
I always do come back to this…writing!
It is my constant. My Northern Star.
And no matter what zig or zag or u-turn I have taken in this life…it always comes back to my writing.
It is what I love. What I set out to do. What I AM doing! It’s my happy place!
Do not let the life you are living push aside the life you want to be LOVING.
It’s kitschy but it is also quite true, my lovelies.
No matter where life takes you or even how you got to this point in life, do one thing-
Find your bliss!
Find what makes you happy!
So fill in the blank of what would make your life more livable and lovable and “get with the __________!”
I am sitting here in my little house at my little desk thinking not so little thoughts.
My mind is like a hungry mouse looking for cheese in a maze of long halls with blocked off exits. At some point, it simply said “Screw it!” and climbed over the walls and escaped!
I know what my mind is looking for….words. The pretty words. The right words. All of the pretty and right words that will all fit nicely onto a page and make pretty and nice stories.
But apparently today my brain has chosen to go on strike and all the pretty and right words are refusing to cross the picket line. Bastards!
So I do what I always do when nothing of quality comes to me.
I open all my works in progress (and there are a LOT of them!) and I just write a line here, change a phrase there, erase a paragraph over on that one…I do what I always do. I keep going at it.
And while I am struggling today, I was reminded by someone of supposed good intentions that maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should not put my supposed talented eggs into this supposed merry little basket of stupid.
And maybe that person can bite me! I have enough disparate self doubt that I do not need any one’s help in that area. I know where my talents lay. I know what I can bring to the table.
Damn it to hell…
This little side show of mental button pushing reminded me of a piece of poetry by a man called Charles Bukowski. Personally-not a fan of his work. And this particular piece (called So You Want to Be a Writer) kind of, sort of, maybe pisses me off.
In this work of his, he goes on about what NOT to do. How if it is not done a certain way, or comes from a certain place within you, then you are not a writer and don’t write. Just don’t do it.
This is a piece that makes me angry and makes feel the need to prove this man wrong. And it MAKES me want to write. Because, at the end of his little “schpeel”, it does find some redemption in my minds’ eye.
He speaks that the need to write will “…drive you to madness…”, which is very true.
When it says that unless writing is like “…the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it/when it is truly time and you are truly chosen, it will do it by its self and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you…”
I do not know about that. I do know that there have been moments in my life when people have tried to kill off this part of me. Degraded, belittled, destroyed my work and my nearly manic need to put pen to paper. I watched them mock and ridicule and physically tear from my hands my work. I have seen their hate, felt their anger and been drenched by the sweat of their disdain for me. Those people where not good people in my life.
And sadly, at times, I was one of those people.
I let fear and doubt and the belief that it would never become anything topple my self esteem to ruble.
Then I realize that writing is, for me, the only thing that brings me peace. Joy. Laughter. Hope.
And god above, I have lost all of those things a dozen times over in my life. I have fallen and had to rebuild my life. I have lost faith in my God and my self. And each time I have been in a dark place in my life, it was when I took up my pen again that I found those very things that I needed.
I will write when and how and where and what my very soul gives me to write. Some days I cannot keep up with the cacophony of words that swirl within me. Other days I cannot remember how to spell my own name.
But regardless of which place I am mentally or emotionally or spiritually, I will write! I will keep plucking away at those mental harp strings that influence and flutter those words within my soul.
I will search for words and the right turn of phrase till my last moment upon this sphere.
You see, for me, writing is the only thing that does not feel like a wasted endeavor.
I write when I am at peace or in a rage or when I am stressed or when I am asleep and I snap awake scrambling for a pen and paper to get something out of my head!
Writing is my northern star.
Writing is my salvation.
I will write how I see fit for me, not in the pretentious manner Mr. Bukowski seems to imagine only a true writer should write. Because only a true writer knows what works for them.
Do I plan to make a living at this and be able to be a success? Absofuckinglutly!
Please my lovelies, do not let the negative naysayers bring you down. Do not let the doubt or the stress or the worry eat away at what you are striving to become. What ever it is that drives you! What ever makes you get up and go forward and live the best life you can possibly live.
Remember! This is your life! Your choice! YOUR DREAM!
The haters can hate all they want but all they are doing is making themselves miserable. You are beyond their little voices and littler minds.
I will fight with teeth and nails till I am bloody and my manicure is chipped just to keep doing what I am doing!
I am a writer.
What are you?
I am comically and tragically pissed off about things.
In my defense...I was left unsupervised.
In my defense...I was left unsupervised.
Bizarre thoughts from author Jenny Lawson - Like Mother Teresa, only better.
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