I’ve been having a hard time writing lately. I have ideas swirling around in my brain, I have conversations logged in my memory, I have a hundred moments – quiet, funny, reflective, sad – that flit like butterflies, uncatchable. I can see them, in all their delicate beauty, poised for flight, but to reach out and grab them damages their wings, and I hold myself back for fear of ruining something beautiful.
Sometimes all I have to do is pause for a breath and the words assemble themselves in my mind, forming post-worthy punctuated pictures, ready for publication if I could only type them out. But I am either at work, or in the car, or at the grocery store, or have awakened in the middle of the night to go pee (my bladder is the size of a lentil), or am cooking, or walking the beach (which is more like a panting waddle, ‘cos my ass is seriously out of shape), or just plain not interested in sitting down at the computer (there’s a whole history there that it would take me 3,000 words to suss out in any way that makes sense – I’ll spare you, as this post is quite long enough as it is), and they never make it from passing fancy to flying fingertip to get typed out.
And so they stew until they stagnate, and trying to resurrect them from the mire is… Exhausting.
So I put it off.
And I put it off some more.
And then something happens that I really.must.write. Except… Oh yeah, there’s no background for the story because I have failed to write 147 things already, so I’ll just add one more item to list of un-dones and let it go.
*rubbing temples*
It’s sort of… Defeating.
I write to process, especially to process emotion, and when I just.can’t.do.it, I start to feel overwhelmed.
And don’t even start with me on the whole, “Oh Feve, just write when you feel like writing” bullshit because I already tried that on myself and it doesn’t help. Thanks anyway, but save your breath.
And if you’re thinking, What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s just a blog. Well, let me tell you… You’re absolutely right. It’s just a blog. But it’s my blog and I don’t like it right now.
And I think that’s part of the problem.
Generally speaking, I like this little space of mine, my tiny corner of the internet cloud-o-sphere. I like the people I meet and the conversations I have and the things I learn. Playing with words, having discussions, learning about my community (interpret that as you will) – these are all things I enjoy.
But right now…
Not so much. And it’s hard to articulate all the why’s (see prior reference to the Unwritten 147), especially as it’s not down to any *one* fixable thing.
But it’s hard for me sometimes. Because I invest myself here. On my own blog and on others’. And I’ve lost a lot in the process. (Yes, yes, I know you’d love to hear the details. But I’d love to be independently wealthy, and sometimes we just don’t get what we want. Plus, as I already mentioned: This post is quite long enough as it is.)
I understand that people leave. The turnover here (in terms of who engages regularly) has been pretty high from the very beginning. (And the whole censoring-sex-blogs thing that happened on WordPress in 2013 is in the works on Blogger right now, so I expect another mass exodus from both platforms in about 3.28 seconds.) Generally speaking, I just roll with it. People come and go, some come back later, some disappear into the ether forever. With most, it’s like strangers passing on a train. We take a meal or two together, have a few interesting conversations, laugh a little, and leave each other a little better than we were before we met.
Some, though…
Some of the people you meet via blogging become part of your life – your real life – and you let them in… Only to have them steal pieces of you when they leave.
It’s just life, I guess. And online life is a microcosm of the greater world. But it’s hit me hard over the past year, and I am not one for hard hits. Especially this time of year.
February is a hard month for me.
Last Wednesday would have been my grandfather’s 90th birthday. This Thursday will be the 25th anniversary of his death. It’s a grief that renews itself every year, but moreso this year for some reason. It could be that the Last Man Standing from my grandfather’s generation was laid to rest on Valentine’s Day. It could be that my mother is inching closer to the age her father was when he died, and I see so much of him in her (even though I hardly see her at all), that it’s a constant reminder that The End is just around the corner. It could be that I recognize the next generation to go is my parents’ generation, and that puts death one step closer to my own door.
It could be that I am affected by things unrecognized, by circumstances unclear, by happenings unknown to me.
It could be that I’m neurotic.
But neurosis or no, February is a hard month. It is a month I associate with leaving.
Last year in February, the two people who supposedly love me the most, turned my world upside down. One left me. He turned inside his shell and hid from the world and shut me out, without apology or explanation. I understand, intellectually, that he was turning inward as opposed to turning away. But it manifests the same, doesn’t it? And his timing was pretty fucking shitty. (Yes, that’s what I said. Pretty fucking shitty. Say that ten times fast without laughing.) Not only did/does he know how hard February is for me, but his turning away came on the heels of a Very Bad Time: literally, the same day that lightning struck my relationship with my husband, and the emotional severance that followed *that* particular storm took months to repair. (There’s a lot I don’t write here, for good reason. Suffice to say The Year of The Horse was the year of the bucking fucking bronco, and no matter how hard it tried, it could not throw me off. I may be walking funny and feel a little saddle sore, but I won. “Fuck you, horse!” For that, there is a tattoo in order. Also, we’re fine now.)
So. Three men I loved have left me – one way or another – in February.
Two men I loved were buried in February.
Mortality rears its ugly head.
Emphasized by the beginning of lent. Ash Wednesday. Which was the anniversary of my grandfather’s birthday.
And the wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round…
There’s more, but I really don’t feel like getting into all of it here.
But that’s a problem. Because I need to get it out. And writing – whether I hit ‘publish’ or not – is how I do that.
A la Anna Nalick:
If I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud
And I know that you’ll use them however you want to
So this is me, writing.
Because I have to.
Because keeping it in is toxic.
Because I’m neurotic.
Or whatever.
Couch time is over.
Amateur psychologists, do your thing. I’m gonna find something to eat.
A reflective piece that one found intriguing as several ideas put forward definitely resonated for me
Can I just say that your thoughts and feelings are familiar. I’m saddened by your losses – big ones in the same month. March is around the corner. I’m choosing to see a better month ahead for us Mrs Fever. xo, Jayne
I am taking one day at a time. March has its own history; the mind does its best to forget, but the body remembers.
Better days will come. Eventually.
Well then, maybe a little writing fun is in order. Something to yank us out of the doldrums – the horse latitudes or whatever else these times are called…or not. : )
What we need… Is cheese. 😛
Something cheesy this way comes. 😉
(Diet be damned.)
Grilled Cheese and a pickle please.
Ha! Pickle, indeed. Is that a euphemism? 😛
NOT when we’re talking grilled cheese!
But, I’d like to see the menu with:
Grilled Cheese, Pickle & a Poke
*hugs* for as long as you want them
I understand that inability to write. I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard month. I’d hug you if I could, but I’m sending my thoughts on wings to you.
Xoxo
This was largely an exercise in forcing my hand – literally – in that I sat down at the keyboard and did not allow myself NOT to type. I also did not allow myself to self-censor, so what you read is basically an unedited thought flow.
It’s hard to explain… I haven’t had a hard month, exactly. Not in terms of current events. It’s more that February just *is* a hard month.
February and I have an unsettling history together. It is a month during which I have experienced too many betrayals. I can never quite unclench my gut during this month, because I’m constantly tensed for the next blow. A lifetime of conditioned response, reinforced at regular enough intervals that I can never forget. (Forgiveness is another matter entirely.)
I am actually doing pretty okay overall. But your hugs are welcome. As are your bewinged thoughts. <3
It’s always weird hitting a “like button” on a blog post that is sad or pensive or……really any sentiment expressed that isn’t so much “likeable” because it means someone is struggling, dealing and /or coping.
*Amateur psychoanalysis begins here:
I don’t read sad here…nor do I read a lot of struggling….I do see dealing and coping.
I see pensive…meditative and a lot of self-nurturing going on in your words……along with taking responsibility for your emotional state and dealing with it as opposed to letting it fester and become a scab to be relentlessly picked at, never letting the pain subside long enough to enjoy the goods things that DO happen, the moments of things getting right side up and that point where you can draw in a deep breathe an.
Think about it….you allow yourself one month out of the year to pick at scabs and let them ooze……release the toxins………so they don’t become festering wounds. Living with the “February chaos” in your mind for a while…… is part of the process of letting the damn things ooze and weep…..so you don’t spend your energy the rest of the year……..constantly feeling like you are inconsolable and persistently “coping” with life.
**Amateur spiritualist starts here:
Could be……February is your month to slow down…… reground yourself and prepare for the next year. In the cosmic scheme of things…….I don’t think this is a coincidence the the month would be February.
You seem to be strongly connected to the very the fact February is built around a transcendent period…….a set in stone for souls of all natures and callings…..a time to process honoring as well as grieving the past, shedding angst and preparing for rebirth with a reinvigorated essence. I also do not think it is a coincidence it happens to be the shortest month that you have all this on your proverbial re-birthing plate.
You have never struck me as the type of person who likes to spend too much time in the pits of angsty despair, even when you feel like you are being swallowed alive by the angst and despair.
You allow yourself such times…with structure, as it dates and times. So if there has to be a time for this in your life, it would make sense the universe would respect this…and it would send you there…..at a time that is the shortest time frame.
***Amateur comedian and PhD(Yes…the Piled higher Deeper kind) in Serendipitic quackery beings here:
Considering all the above could be seen as hocus pocus ….
*pulls out today’s ‘to-do-list’ flips it over to blanks back page and uses it as a script pad*
I prescribe right now….. stand up
And….
>>>>>You put your head in
You put your head out
You put your head in
And………
Bang it all about
Now….
Do the hokey pokey
Turn yourself around
That’s what it’s all about<<<<<
Dosage:
PRN………. avoiding walls and windows as you do.
(Avoids walls…so you don’t actually end up banging your head on walls…..for the record….. this is not as therapeutic as it sounds. ;P
Avoid windows so others don’t think you truly have slipped that last cog and need a new jacket with a lot of zippers. 😉 )
Oh and
P.S.
Ignore the today's to-do-list on the front of this script…I won't need it back.
I wasn't really gonna do any of it…it just makes me feel better to jot it down like I was gonna act like a grown up today.
p)
You’re right, I don’t really *do* angst. I’m a pragmatist and just do not have the time or patience for bullshit, especially my own. Hopefully that get-your-head-out-of-your-ass self-talk was evident in this post, as well as the pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps humor; I laughed when I read it back to myself, though it’s always hard to know how other people will take *anything* you (meaning “I”) write, especially if it is anything other than ‘happy’. I am a genuinely happy person though (even in February), and if my readers ‘get’ that then they see, in a nutshell, Who I Am. (For whatever that’s worth.) I appreciate that you DO get it, and that you weren’t afraid to hit the ‘Like’ button just because it’s not a cotton candy sky and chocolate roses kind of day. 🙂 ‘Liking’ a post is, to me, a way of saying “I getcha” and giving someone a little internet fist-bump. (Fist-bumping should be a button. There should also be a little icon for “ice cream” and “chicken dance” but alas, I am not in charge of the world. Yet.)
I can appreciate the whole shortest-month philosophy, and there are a lot of things about February that balance the negatives, things that bring smiles and relaxation and relief. My husband’s birthday. The anniversary of when we met. Completing our taxes. (I know it sounds weird, but as the Keeper of the Paperwork and the Manager of the Money, I can always breathe easier once we’re past that process.) And there are so many positive memories of my grandfather locked in my mind that it is cathartic to take them out of safekeeping and examine them with appreciation as part of the memorial process. There’s always a slice of sunshine to be found in the clouds, you just have to know how to see it. And even the rainiest days clear eventually. So I keep that in mind, and keep the faith, and keep putting one foot in front of the other until the journey through this transitional month is over.
Then I turn around, make a “nyah” face, stick my tongue out at February, and move forward into the lion’s mouth of March. 😛
Perhaps I’ll add the hokey pokey to my routine this year. 😉
Thanks for reading and commenting, Dippity. I appreciate you. <3
I have a ton of relatives born in February, and a ton of relatives that died in February too. I also saw a news story yesterday that a friend was in a car accident and is in ICU now. His wife died from cancer just over a year ago, the anniversary was earlier this month. They misspelled his name too. It’s bad enough finding out on the news, but then they spell his name wrong and you have to wonder if it’s really him. Both him and his wife are from Minnesota so there aren’t local relatives. One of his relatives did post on his facebook page that he is in ICU so they know at least.
Okay, I’m done being a downer. Time for a chicken dance.
Wild
It’s a hard month for a lot of people. The February Blues.
I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Not having family close by can be a blessing, but in emergencies it leaves you with no one. That’s something I fear – being alone, without company or advocacy, in a hospital. When my husband had emergency surgery in 2013, that reality hit home for both of us.
At times I can’t help but wonder if most members of my family prefer to die alone. Relatives have major medical emergencies and don’t tell anyone until later on. They designate people to be decision makers without telling them in advance. And then we don’t always get along. You’re not born alone. Your mother is there. But it isn’t YOUR choice about that. The thought of being dead doesn’t bother me as much as the thought of the process of dying. Although I do hope they make sure I’m actually dead before they bury/burn or do whatever to my body.
All of that is harder on others I think. Just my opinion.
I have durable medical power of attorney for my dad and am executor of estate for both parents. I’m glad I know that ahead of time, but at the same time, I never feel like I know anything at all when it comes to what they want, because they change their minds constantly. My dad especially. I’ve told him a million times to WRITE IT DOWN. That if it’s not written, I won’t follow it; that if it’s not important enough to put in the will, it’s not important enough for me to remember. That doesn’t stop him from saying things like, “By the way, your brother gets my military uniforms.” And I’m like, “If he wants them, give them to him NOW. I’m gonna have enough to deal with when the time comes. Closet relics are not gonna matter at that point.” (He is estranged from his children; I expect violence and thievery from two of them, post-mortem. After all, why should anything change just because someone died?)
The process of dying… It’s different for everyone, isn’t it? I suppose the best anyone can hope for is that it’s quick and painless.
My mother wants to be cremated; she is an organ donor. I will likely follow suit, but then I think… What on earth will they do with the ashes? It’s a morbid thought, I guess. But an honest one.