Lyrics alongside me

I had lyrics from three different songs pop into my head as I wrote my last blog, helping to express what was on my mind:

"2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song.
If I get it all down on paper it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to."
 - Breathe, Anna Nalick

"Can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
Get put back together"
 - Bent, Matchbox 20

and so much of this song that I haven't listened to in a long time, and that I never wanted to feel like I could understand:

"Split Screen Sadness"

And I don't know where you went when you left me but
Says here in the water you must be gone by now
I can tell somehow
One hand on the trigger of a telephone
Wondering when the call comes
Where you say it's alright
You got your heart right

Maybe I'll sleep inside my coat
Wait on the porch 'til you come back home
Oh, right
I can't find a flight

We share the sadness
Split screen sadness

Two wrongs make it all alright tonight [4x]

"All you need is love" is a lie 'cause
We had enough but we still said goodbye
Now we're tired, battered fighters

And it stings when it's nobody's fault
'Cause there's nothing to blame at the drop of your name
It's only the air you took and the breath you left

Maybe I'll sleep inside my coat
Wait on the porch 'til you come back home
Oh, right
I can't find a flight
So I'll check the weather wherever you are
'Cause I wanna know if you can see the stars tonight
It might be my only right

[2x]
We share the sadness
Split screen sadness
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)

I called because I just
Need to feel you on the line
Don't hang up this time
And I know it was me who called it over but
I still wish you'd fought me 'til your dying day
Don't let me get away

'Cause I can't wait to figure out what's wrong with me
So I can say this is the way that I used to be
There's no substitute for time
Or for the sadness
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
Split screen sadness
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
We share the sadness
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
Split screen sadness
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
Oh, and the sadness, it's so right, it's so right...
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
Oh, and the sadness, it's so right, it's so right...
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
Oh, and the sadness, it's so right...
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)
Oh, and the sadness, it's so right...
(Two wrongs make it all alright tonight)

- Split Screen Sadness, John Mayer

An exercise in bravery

I have 34 blog drafts waiting to be completed and published.

To be fair, a small number of the 34 posts were never meant for anyone's eyes but my own, but those aside, there are still a lot of technically unspoken words.

I've had a few moments where I felt like I was really going to put one of those drafts out there. I  started writing and felt like I was on a roll, like the words were finally coming back to my fingers, like I was no longer stagnated by some unknown force and could really write something.

But it never quite worked out.

I've had this one thought in the back of my mind for a while about what that "unknown force" could be, but I haven't felt like giving life to it. It's not bad, really, I just don't know what it means if the unknown force causing me to have trouble expressing myself is what I think it is. It doesn't seem to be an easy fix. If I'm going to recognize something as a cause, I'd like it to have a fix.

But I said I'd be brave.

Maybe really considering and admitting to myself that this is a possibility will help me to understand if it really is what's been holding me back. Maybe doing that is brave.

A couple of weeks ago I took a mini trip to visit my best guy friend, Cody. I was going because I had a long weekend and I missed him. I hadn't seen him since right before Thanksgiving, and that was too long a time to go without seeing his face. I needed face time. We needed face time. To catch up. To relax and be comfortable. To spill our guts.

Except I was determined to not spill my guts.

At least about one thing. Just one thing. I didn't want to talk about it. I told myself I would be doing it to protect him. Because if he gave his opinion, and it was something I didn't want to hear I might hold it against him. I told myself I was doing it to protect me. Because I didn't want to be emotional about it and go back on promises I made myself. And in a small place that I never much allowed myself to linger, in the place where the thought inspiring this post has clung to life, I believed it might be because...well, because of something that I can't really explain. Because of an indescribable feeling.

But I can't keep much from Cody. I'm sure he'd like to think that it's because he could get anything out of me or because he's so smooth, but it's not that. In this instance it's that he knows the most about that one thing. He knows details that other people don't about that one thing. And even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. He is someone with whom I can be comfortable. His friendship is one of few that provides a sanctuary for me. He is someone I trust. So given enough time, and along the right lines of conversation, the things on my mind come out.

And that one thing came out. He said the right thing - asked the right question and it came pouring out of my mouth. Not every single detail on my heart or of the story, but some of my truths. I told him about changes in my life. About who is no longer around. About every hurt that has derived from that. I don't have, or rather I can't have, someone who played, however unknowingly, a role in my life here within this blog.

So here I am. Afraid that I can't write because the person who may have most inspired me to write isn't around anymore. What if the person I was because of that person can't exist without them? What if there's a part of me that cannot survive without that person? What if he took it with him?

And God, it sounds so whiny. And so pathetic. And I refuse to believe that I can be so defined by one individual. Because I know that I'm not.

But he was one of my people. One of those people who I can't explain. One of those people who easily worked their way into my heart. Who I loved in a moment. In an instant. Who I loved with the uttering of a few choice words. And I don't mean love in the way one would automatically assume, I mean the type of love whose confines are personal to me. That maybe only I really understand. That automatic appreciation kind of love. The immediate fondness of another kind of love. The recognition of a twin soul.

I'm tired of losing my people. Those people who say what's on my mind before it can get to my lips. Who make the same jokes. Who finish my sentences. Who can match me step for step. Who share a special part of me that I don't even really know how to explain.

I've been left with a small, dull aching sadness. It doesn't exist all the time, and it doesn't sting anymore. I think my head is protecting my heart in that way. Hurting will do me no good. But at times I feel the loss. And I'm worried that the loss has taken something more with it this time.

The last time I lost one of my people, I was left with a bunch of good memories with all the potential in the world to turn on me and a lot of inside jokes that would never again emerge. And that was hard to come to terms with. It still gets me every now and then. But aside from new memories that would never be made, nothing was taken. This time I feel like something was taken. But that's not his fault. That's hard, too. There's nothing and no one to blame. Not that I'd want to. Not that I think that would do me any good.

I just see how my writing has changed. My silliness doesn't really come out. My random thoughts that he enjoyed so much and that I so easily shared with him don't seem to come to life here. I know that I am not wallowing in sadness. I know I'm not broken. Maybe a little bent, but not broken. I guess I damaged my silly bone. I think it's connected to my heart. I didn't realize that would take so long to heal.

I know I'm happy. I know I have reason and cause to be happy and smile and enjoy life, and I am and I do. And I have hope that if losing him is what has caused me to lose what he was so good at bringing out in me, I will find it again. But does it hurt too much to feel that way without him? Am I more upset than I think, and is that causing some kind of writer's block? Or did I just need to explore the possibility that this could be what was causing it?

Maybe I'll be better in the morning, though that may be a bit much to hope for. I know I will be better eventually. I am the eternal optimist. Maybe I just needed to get this idea out. Maybe it is what was causing it and I needed to get it out, but it's still going to take time. I just feel like this was worth a shot. To say what I feel. To partake in an exercise in bravery.

the thoughts that go bump in the night

We are not defined by the thoughts that haunt us in the middle of the night. It is not who we are. I cannot find the words to say what I want. I cannot find the motivation or energy to express what's on my mind. It's not as if they're bad thoughts; the flow just isn't there. I feel so incredibly stagnant. I think I know why, but I don't see how to fix it. I'm just hoping the words come back to me soon. I haven't been myself in awhile. Something's missing.

Still, I do know this: I am not defined by this feeling any more than I am the thoughts that go bump in the night.

Blogger's Folly

I think I have writer's block.

Although, I don't know that I'd ever really call myself a "writer", so I'm not sure if that's the appropriate term.

I guess I have blogger's block.

Is that a thing? I'm gonna make it a thing.

Though, I'm probably not the first person to ever use the term, so maybe it's already a thing.

Still...I've never heard of it.

Maybe people have used it before but failed to make it "a thing." In which case, I could make it a thing.

If I'm even qualified to do so.

What if it is a thing, but I'm just really behind the times?

I'm fairly new to blogging and to be honest, I'm never exactly on top of new trends. It's not in my nature to hop on bandwagons, so I've still got some room to learn.

Well, you know? Half of that was a lie. I'm not exactly new to blogging. I used to blog a long time ago. I had a shared blog with some friends. When we were like 12. Oh my goodness, that was over ten years ago. Sheesh.

Does my "fairly" work as a qualifier for that situation? If it does, I didn't really have to explain. If someone ever called me out on it, that "fairly" could be my safety net.

Though, the chances of my being called out are slim considering only 3 other people know about that blog, and none of them read this blog.

I worry too much. Those girls wouldn't even call me out on it if they read this.

...You know what else? I am kind of on top of new trends. I'm often aware of them, but I need some prodding to take part in them.

Huh.

Has any one ever called it "Blogger's folly"? I like the way that sounds.

Okay, I just googled it. No one has ever used that term. At least not on the first results page.

I'm okay with using that term. It works for me.

So then, dear imaginary blog readers, I have blogger's folly.

This means I have thoughts and feelings and ideas and emotions and all the things that make up a blog, but I can't find the right words to express them.

And since I can't find my own words, I am left with two options:

1. Borrow words from others.
2. Post silly pictures.

Today, I choose option number two.

That worked. I only needed a few. Hopefully that will hold you over until I start to make better with the words and stuff.

...yeah.

P.S. Please feel free to contact me for an address if you care to send flowers or cards while I try to recover from my blogger's folly.

Sometimes you gotta say what pops into your head

I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener,

That is what I truly wish to be,

Cause if I were an Oscar Meyer wiener,

Everyone would be in love with me.

I don't really want to be an Oscar Meyer wiener. And I don't need everyone to be in love with me. But I would very much like to have someone new in my life. I feel like I've done a good amount of subtracting lately without having done any adding, and some days it just makes me feel so off-balanced. I get lonely sometimes, and I want back some of what I'm missing. I have a lot of great people in my life, but for the most part they're all hours away. I need someone who can be here now. That's what I really want. That's what I really wish. If I only get one, we can forget I ever said anything about being an Oscar Meyer wiener.

When did I get old enough to have 20-year-old keepsakes?

Last week my mother and I spent some time looking through a tote filled with 20-year-old pictures and papers. My older sister has been wanting to get a lot of her stuff together into scrapbooks, so we were separating some of her elementary school memorabilia from mine. It actually wasn't too hard, seeing as the majority of the things we found belonged to her.

My memories from that particular tote consisted mainly of priceless artwork. This included the finest collection of traced-hand art this side of the Mississippi, a bear covered in coffee (texture is an important artistic element), a tissue-paper bluebonnet or two, and a lovely laminated silhouette of my 4-year-old self on yellow construction paper that I've tacked above the fireplace and have refused to let my parents remove. (As if they would even want to!)

My sister's collection had artwork, but also a bit more variety. The tote contained some of my pre-k papers, but seemed to have things of hers from about first through second grade. This meant progress reports, some certificates, typing ventures, and stories. One piece of paper stuck out to me in particular. It was a poorly spelled Christmas letter to Santa from my six-year-old sister.

We've already put it away, and I don't exactly remember it verbatim, but I do remember some highlights. My sister asserted that she had been good that year and wanted some little things like barrettes and a doll. And then she asked for another doll, for me. She said could she please have a doll for her sister, Tabitha, who was two. And could he please make it a plastic one so that her sister would not rip out the arms and legs. (I guess I was a fairly destructive two-year-old.) She went on to ask for a GoGo My Walking Pup, but the twin ones so that her sister, Tabitha, could have one two.

It was the kind of thing that made me laugh, but also kind of made my heart jump up into my throat a little bit. I looked at that letter and thought about someone who has been selflessly loving me and thinking of me my whole life. Someone has been loving me before I was probably really even old enough to understand the concept. Maybe my sister's age was the best time to understand love. And I'm really lucky and really blessed that that love has only grown. There really just isn't a love comparable to a sister's love.

I don't think I have a traditional "close" relationship with my sister. Or at least what I've picked up or interpreted from others. We never dished about boys or complained about our parents, and I don't ever really confide in her. Although, honestly, I don't really confide in a lot of people. I keep to myself a lot. Or have traditionally. But I know that my sister is always there when I need her. And I know that she is one of the few people who understands most of the crazy things that come out of my mouth. She is someone who can interpret the smallest movement or single word as a movie reference. She remembers with me. She believes in me. She brags about me. She loves me in spite of all my flaws, but never seems to recognize that I have them. I may not have a lot of experience with older sisters, but I'll venture to say she understands the job better than most. I know she's better at it than I am to our younger sister. It's probably a good thing that she can pick up my slack in that department.

Everyone should be so lucky as to have a sister. I was probably thinking about this tonight because I saw a sidebar ad for a GoGo My Walking pup, and it is becoming clear to me that I have to buy one for her. Maybe it's coming 21 years late, but I figure if your sister loves you enough to ask grab Santa's ear on your behalf when you have less than stellar communication skills, she pretty much deserves to get what she asks for.

I showed a picture of this to my dad and he told me that he didn't understand the appeal. I promptly reminded him that when my sister wanted it, she was six. I still don't think he got it. Of course, he was never a six-year-old girl.

You Don't Have To Go Home, But You Can't Stay Here

I throw pretty good parties. It sounds like something to be proud of because the ability to throw a good party is something to be desired.

Of course, if we're laying all our cards on the table and being honest, the type of party I'm really good at throwing is a pity party. And the ability to throw a good pity party doesn't quite fit under that umbrella of desire.

I was just sitting here watching the Golden Globes when I recognized that an emotion I hate and very much dislike admitting to had reared its ugly head. It was sitting right next to me poking and prodding to try and get my attention. I hated it. Cue the music. Get out the streamers and the balloons. It's about to go down.

I think that it's okay to be sad about some things sometimes, but I always manage to connect those allowable things to other things that I am not letting myself be sad about. This is what makes me such a great pity party planner. I can feel all kinds of bad feelings at once. I don't forget to book every conceivable emotion as entertainment and all painful memories are welcome.

There are some things I've promised myself I would not cry over anymore. So in remembering those promises, I began scolding myself and trying to get my emotions in check. And I think I did. I'm pretty sure I shut that party down and I'm good now.

These parties are few and far between, but I don't enjoy throwing them when I do. I guess my one saving grace is also my flaw when it comes to throwing pity parties: I'm terrible with the invitations.

I don't ever really invite people to share in my misery. Not when it's something I know better than to be delving into. And because I consider pity parties to be shallow and unnecessary, this is even more true. There is a difference between true grief and suffering and a pity party. I'll occasionally let people share in my grief, but I will not bog them down with pettiness.

I've been avoiding some things for the sake of my sanity. I considered whether or not this was going against my resolution to be brave. I thought I should be able to just take everything back and face everything all at once and be done with it, but I realized that it's not that easy. As long as it happens, it's fine. I don't have to have myself together overnight.

I'm ready for memories to just be good. I'm ready to just look at some things and smile. I'm ready to listen to songs I love and watch movies I enjoy without feeling a wave of negative emotion. But I'm not going to be discouraged and I'm not going to worry about it if it doesn't happen right away. Poco a poco. Little by little and day by day.

Hopefully sometime soon I'll no longer feel the occasional need to throw pity parties and learn to only partake in Amy Adams/Miss Piggy-Muppet-Movie-empowered-woman type parties if I feel oh so inclined to throw a one-woman emotional celebration. Those are so much better than the alternative.