I had to pee badly and I would blame that on my morning cup of tea if it wasn't coupled with nausea and this annoying sensitivity to smell. If I didn't know any better I would think I'm pregnant but I'm only having sex, without a side of sperm. Which got me to thinking, what if I did get pregnant? Now that is what stopped me in my tracks. Pregnancy again? Could I trust myself to make the right decision when choosing a father that would be as in love with his child as much as he is with the process of making one?
I picked up the phone in the dark only because his picture popped up on my screen. This was the only way he could be in bed with me from hours away. I don't know why he called or what the brief conversation actually accomplished but I remember one thing. I said, "ok babe" before hanging up. Babe? That's not even something I would normally say, even with an extensive vocabulary. A term of endearment from me? How could someone get to know me if I didn't even know myself? Someone's acting brand new.
I looked at the computer screen disgusted by own image. My words, my images, my layout, my style, my whole damn demeanor sitting there in front of me in a place i didn't own. I wanted to throw up like an unwanted pregnancy, this sickness had me mourning. I didn't want to write anymore if spirits could be regurgitated and reincarnated without the original source ever being dead. I had a lost an essential to part to my craft - ownership. Something had died inside and he told me to grieve.
"T, you can't be sad and upset at the same time. Maneuver your way through these emotions. Grieve then be mad," he advised me. I looked a wreck and I saw him searching for the beauty in me.
"I don't know what to do. I'm stuck between who I am and who I want to be. I just don't know where to even begin. How could, why would someone even think this is ok?" I stammered through my thoughts.
He looked at me once more shaking his head with disappointment. "I know you and even when I read your blog, I can't believe some of the things you write. You don't know that you're amazing because that's who you've always been, but you've got to understand that who you've always been is impressive to other people. Imitation is the best flattery."
Of all the emotions running through me, flattery was not so kind to join the party. I shook my head disappointed in myself for being this emotional, for feeling this betrayed. Someone had taken my voice, my temperament, my interests, but I had given them my joy. That was unacceptable, especially after I had worked so hard to find that joy in the first place.
finding the connection while trusting my subconscious.
the common thread is fear. each identity is afraid of possibilities and rightfully so. but fear can be crippling to the very movement required to stimulate the mind.
paragraph one. she is afraid of making a bad decision twice. absentee fathers leave open wounds that she knows all too well will never heal. so instead of making a better decision, she will avoid making one altogether. she will avoid the miracle of childbirth and ignore the possibility of finding a good father to raise a decent human being with. when she signs the last name of a man she barely knows, her fear feels more like a savior than a handicap.
paragraph two. she is afraid of love. point blank period. babe is a word that lovers use and her subconscious had betrayed her consciousness of fear. in the morning, she would call him by his name.
paragraph three. she is deathly afraid of mediocrity and imitation has got to be mediocrity on clearance. she wants no parts of anything or anyone that lacks greatness. call her self righteous if you must but at least she's true to that righteous self.
1 comment:
xoxoxoxo...speechless darlin *thumbsup*
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