A Life Arrested

        In the last few months I have come up with the brilliant idea to make up a list of the things I easily say no to and try to check them off one by one.It's supposed to be an exercise in bravery for me (something that's seriously lacking in my life at the moment), it's supposed to help me with my problem of always saying no when I should be saying yes. In my life over the years, I've spent way too much time worrying about how things would look, namely, how stupid or foolish I would look if I id something or tried a new thing. Well, I hope to eradicate thing entity from my life- starting next year. Why all the way in next year, you ask? Well, I need to start making the list. You can't start an endeavour without having a fully stocked list. Where are your heads at people? So far, I've come up with a flu shot. Yes, you heard me, a flu shot. Laugh while you can people, but a flu shot is no laughing matter. It's carried in an implement of mass destructi

        I don't know when I'm supposed to write my story. I keep waiting for the moment to arise but it just doesn't seem to show up. Or, maybe it has already and I was too distracted by my own dimensions of abstract, obstacles to even notice? If that is the case then I am really screwed. What do I do now? How do I catch up with the moments and opportunities that have already passed me by?         I know that I have a story in me, I just don't know where to start. At the beginning, and how far back do I go? All the way? As far back as I don't want to remember? ...to be fair, I'm not sure if I'm ready to go there yet...this may have to wait some more... Be patient, I tell myself...  I will soon arrive...soon, I will be just where I need to be to get this done.         Every move I make is a move I think everyone else wants me to make. I mean literally. If I shift my body in one directions, somewhere in my subconscious, I think that that is the move thatI

        When do you find your true identity? And where do you start looking? What exactly is the age where you find your true self? Is it okay to still not know who you are at the ripe old, smelly, age of forty years? Will society still have me, will they still let me live among them?          These are the questions that ponder my mind as of late. I reel from their enormity but, what is one to do when one doesn't feel like they have an identity, true, authentic, real or otherwise?

        There are things I wanted to do in my life, places I wanted to be but, sadly, neither of them have come to fruition. I don't understand this life game, I understand the rules. What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to be? How do I know if I have accomplished anything that I originally set out to do?         I look at other people and I envy them, I wish I had the strength to do what they do. Have a family, be happy, be successful... What I am most embarrassed about/My shame at this age: -No apartment to speak of. -No family of my own. -No romantic entanglements, good or otherwise. -No prospects. -Too enamoured with celebrities. -Allowed t.v. to raise me, made it my first friend. Probably, the beginning cause of all, if not some, of my problems(what's wrong with me?) Things I need to do: -Stop being afraid of everything worth anything. -Take more risks= in all aspects of my life. -Think positively, as much as possible, especially in the times when t

        I wish I was somebody. I wish I had a secret nobody else knew about and, I wish that when they did find out about it, they would be surprised and say things like "Oh, I never knew she could do that". I wish I was a surprise to someone. ...and not so predictable.         I know this is hubris, and that it speaks to my ego, (of which I, seriously, have none,) but, there are times where, God, help me, these are the things that haunt me and, keep me up in my waking and sleeping hours. Well, some of them anyway. I wish I was more stable than this but, this is what I have to deal with right now... At tis point I really hope I get better and move on to better things, and thoughts..         My days are getting darker. I can feel it, like a tumour taking hold of what's left of me on the inside. If there is a war going on inside of me then, I think it's winning.

        From the very beginning I knew that I never did quite get this life thing right. I just didn't know the rules, you see. And even now in my old-some age I still don't know the rules of how I'm supposed to behave, or be. Everyday I wish there was some kind of book or manual that could tell me the finer points of living. Do this here, say this then, all of this would come in considerably handy when I need it, which is every single day of my existence.         Some days I wonder when my life will start. When will I get my come to Jesus moment and finally get off my ass and get the gumption to just DO SOMETHING?! ...Sadly, that time hasn't happened yet. They say patience is a virtue but..., this is killing me.         With each passing day I feel myself get worse and worse, I lose more and more hope in me, in life, in hope, that anything good will happen to me. It is a sinking, horrible, feeling to behold in a small space as one's (tiny) body.         T

        There are days when I feel positively toxic on the inside. And when I say toxic, I mean my insides feel like they have been swimming in a sludge-like swill for the better part of too long and, are now covered in the thick, black debris of what the rest of the world doesn't want and can do without. I don't know how I get this way. No, that's not true. I get this way when I'm feeling angry. Really angry. And for no particular reason.         I'm ashamed to admit that there are days when I just wake up angry. When every, tiny, little thing gets on my last nerve. The door to my bedroom doesn't open up all the way so when I try to get out it slams back into me, sending a radiating pain shooting through my leg starting from my knee, I try to brush my teeth and find that the last of the toothpaste was used up the day before and someone had forgotten to buy a new tube, I want to wear my favourite shirt only to find that it s still in the wash (again, some

        I've been writing a story for a friend of mine for some time now and, by 'some time' I mean years- you, fellow writers, you know of what I speak. Sometimes it is not so much the destination of a story but the journey it takes you on. I found this out the hard way, about three years into the hard way.         The story started out one way and took so many turns I scarcely remember what the original tale even looked like, which, I have come to figure out, is not all together a bad thing. Along the way I've discovered my characters, who they are, what they will put up with, where they draw the line in terms of their imitations. It's like getting to know brand new set of friends. I love this part of writing. I just hate the lengths it takes sometimes to get here, where I need to be...         It never used to be this hard for me to write. There was a time when I would put pen to paper and whatever I had inside of me would just flow through me like water

        For as long as I can remember I have loved art. And not just any art, all art. From my very first conscious sight in that day care, where the kid across from me was having his birthday party, and we were all celebrating with a large white cake, I could remember being led around by my heart strings to the tune of all that is art and artistic in this world. At my very core creativity is surely the thing that defines me.  Until, I lost it all few years ago.          Well... I felt as though I lost it all, anyway. Somedays, I'm not so sure. Mostly, and what is a great surprise to me, I feel as though I may still have a few dribbles of the stuff left in me. And I have been holding onto it for dear life ever since.         Where I once wrote effortlessly in the past, coining words together and stringing letters along like it was second nature to me, I now find myself struggling to link any feint incantation or sentence together. The ease of it all failed me.         It w

        Let me tell you what my first love has been. Long before dance, for which I had an all too short, yet deeply passionate, love affair, broken up only by the presence of a very damaging experience/entity in my life at the time. And, way before I found out what music could do for me, spiritually, emotionally, and soulfully... I found the word. And, no, I don't mean The Word, as in the biblical sense. (trust me, I'm the last person to be seen in a church. They're still trying to put out the burning embers from the last religious building I walked into)(not really, but that would make a helluva a story). I mean the word. As in the written word, the spoken word. Growing up, this was where I found shelter and comfort. I felt more safe within the letters of words than I ever felt on the outside of own my apartment, or even in my own skin.         Most people think photography was where I began, but they would be wrong. That love came later, at the third half of my l