One Woman (Missing The Mark)

Yesterday, I posted a poem, "One Woman".  It came from an experience I had, one that I felt others had perhaps been through, also.  I set about sharing it.

Let me just say that input last evening and today showed me that I missed the mark rather significantly.  For the most part, people thought the poem was about looks and appearance.

I know I'm not really a good writer.  Writing, along with music, are what keep my head on straight.  I can't live without either one.  Having said that, I'm not a good writer.  Yet.  So, this was a good learning experience.

I guess part of it was the ongoing habit I have of spilling me first and then editing later.  There are times when that first raw, bleeding attempt IS what you want to share. I've been on Twitter and FB for about 18 months.  If you've hung out with me any length of time, you know that I share more than might be average, certainly more than some are comfortable with.

While this may be a part of me, I am beginning to see the value in writing, then re-reading, and editing.  Many  of  you have commented that the personal nature of my writing has struck a chord and that it actually helped that I shared one thing or another.  And it's probably not a secret that the writing is therapeutic for me. Perhaps I can find a way to keep those concepts but to also spend the time to perfect it, work it, make it more of a craft, a skill....what am I trying to say and did I communicate that?

So, with your indulgence, lets try this again.  Here, I hope, is where I was trying to go last night but failed so miserably. I'm going to do more of a story than a poem, I want to capture this, for what it's worth.
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It's morning, a morning like any other. The sun is shining, and finally the world seems to be thawing. Hints of green out the window meet her eyes, she smiles. Morning always has such a brand new, anything can happen feeling.  Getting ready for work, she picks an outfit, matches a scarf and jewelry and chooses a pair of shoes.  She puts some "product" in her stubborn hair, and grabs her makeup basket. As she "puts on her face", she smiles, thinking of Becky taking her to a "makeover" a year ago so that she could learn, in her 40's, how to put makeup on!

Weekends are so much easier!  Throw on a baseball hat, hoodie and yoga pants and we're good for the day, unless it's a night for one of Glenn's gigs.  She and the Becks like to look nice when they stand up front and support their friend.  Becks is so much better at "putting on her inner rock star" when they go out, but it's really about the music, and friendship.

But today is a work day, like a million before and how many more to come.  There's a huge pile of unanswered questions in her head, and not just a few sizable speed-bumps to come in the coming weeks.  She's got no clue how she'll handle them, but she's convinced she'll think of something, she always does.  Besides, she thinks to herself, what good am I going to do getting all hysterical about things?  Putting the "mental rubbish" aside, she checks the look in the full length mirror.  She smiles, and says out loud to herself., "Hey, I don't look half bad today."  She goes downstairs to leave for work, a little spring in her step.

On her way out, she quickly peruses yesterday's mail that she didn't have a chance to sort. More overdue notices, including 2 shut-off notices.  Making a face she stuffs them in her tote. Lunch time homework, she'll feed them a little something to shut them up and make a few calls.

It's such a gorgeous day, the sky is such an amazing shade of blue.  Sweet!

At work, she gets called into her boss's office.  He tells her he's got a great deal of confidence in her but that it is apparent that her focus just isn't there. The client has noticed, as have other "internal partners."  She returns to her cubicle, basically like the baseball player who has just been told that if he doesn't get all home runs, he'll be cut from the team.

The major salary supporting....everything.....the medical insurance.....the relatives in the building.  How the hell can all these plates be kept spinning?  She drives home, thinking of everyone who is relying on her.  She feels like a shit, because in this moment, it just feels....heavy.

Dreams.  As the traffic crawls along, and the Foo Fighter's "Skin and Bones" album plays in the background, she reflects on reality vs the dream she has.  She thinks to herself, some people like routine, but there are times that it just runs you down.  She knows that in more than one aspect of life, she has continued on, doing the same things, the same way, in the same places, with the same people.  Like so many others, she knows she's dying inside.

This circle of thinking isn't productive, really, because she already knows all of this and really, reviewing it over and over doesn't help.

She pulls over into a state park that's on her route home, it gets her off the highway anyway, and just sits there, in the car. Dave and the boys are still singing.  "February Stars"...."I'm hanging on".....she laughs and then tears up at the same time at the truth of it. "You're an idiot" she says aloud to herself, taking off her glasses to wipe the tears.

To live....freely.  What would that look like?  Do  people actually achieve that, do they get out of the rat race?  She smiles to think of it, a warm place, work that feels good, the right arms, a sweet blessed simplicity   borne of only using what is needed and leaving all else aside.  It's a sweet thought.

Her phone chirps, a message that needs to be answered.  She types a quick reply, starts the car and leaves the park.

That night, she takes off her clothes and removes her makeup.  Catching a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror , she stops, really looks.  She sees where her age shows on her face, notices the stringy frizz of her hair, the extra pounds, the way she's not tight and smooth.  Her mind starts to wander, as she pulls on leggings, a tank and hoodie.

Again she speaks out loud, to herself.  "You're delusional", disgusted at what she sees.  All of the crap standing between she and that life seem so big tonight, and she can't see a way out.  She feels inadequate, and tired, and just.....UGLY.  It's really best described as feeling undeserving, unworthy of those beautiful dreams you have.  You think to yourself, good heaven's what the fuck do I have to offer the world?  Who the hell would want me?  A black moment settles on you, you let doubts creep in, and you can't  see a way out. You're worthless.
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That, my friends is what I was trying to get across last night. Maybe some will see this as yet more over-sharing. "There she goes again, she's such a fucking mess."   Some will think it's just weakness, that I'm being whiny and if  I'd just shut up and get off my ass, I can change anything I want to.

I know that my sweet ones.  And I'm doing that.  I DO  believe in going for your dreams, and you can't do that without taking stock, facing what's real, and then moving your ass.

But this was about what those black moments feel like, those times when everything crashes in on you.  This was about what that one moment feels like, when you meet your own eyes in the mirror and you just can't stand it.  I know I'm not the only one who has felt this way, and so I'm sharing it, for me and for anyone else who has been there. It is a moment, it comes, and it's dark, painful and heavy. But it passes, you keep going!

So, there it is. Yes, babies, there is hope and I believe in going balls to the wall for your dreams - stay tuned for the rest of 2013! - or crashing and burning in the attempt.  I hope that perhaps this communicates more effectively what I was trying to get across yesterday.