Friday, July 31, 2015
Here I marinate in my miasma, on the slimy cusp of a six week long work induced brain numbing frenzy - in those doldrums before the excrement commences again....As much as I'm grateful to be employed and respectful of my cobeleaguered office mates I'm beyond ready for a change....
Ever since I said "I do", signed a mortgage, and committed to parenthood I've attempted to be responsible, but I've reached the realization that all work and no play makes Tam a sad panda. I've naught to show for all my "sit stay, good dog" mindset but a dancing plethora of situational chaos. While I'm certainly not planning to strip naked and finger paint unicorns on my sidewalk in a furor of self expression, I am beginning the excruciating process of "personal boundary enforcement" My attempt to be all things to all those in authority has only served to nullify the me in me. It stops now.
I've heard wise counsel admonish that no one is as passionate about your dreams as you. Truth is, if you aren't focused on your own dreams - you'll be enlisted to assist someone else with his or hers. I am so weary of promoting the visions of others to the extent that there is no room left for the whispered longings of my own little soul. I am a wife, a mother, a worker, a worshiper, but I am also a writer. If saying yes to who I am means saying now to the whims of someone else then so be it. We only get one go round on this cobalt orb and my clock is ticking. I still love you. Even if I must say "NO" to you. If you love me, you will attempt to understand.
I took a stroll by a site called "livejournal" this morning. I've had an account there since the days of y360. My plan was to purge it since I hadn't posted anything since 2012. I started reading a few entries and while no one else would find the words meaningful, the posts reminded me how much I used to enjoy blogging and writing about nothing in particular. I remember a few years back when I was fearless about speaking my mind regarding the topic of the day. When I wouldn't have hesitated to pose a query to the masses along the lines of "we brandish a noose and cry foul over the demise of a collared alpha predator but butcherers of our own human offspring are so quickly forgotten, why?" I find the slaughter of any of "God's creatures" horrific but it is even more disturbing to me that we humans would commence to destroying the life of one of our own over a lion, and monsters like Kermit Gosnell and Synthia Varela-Casaus still breathe...Yes. I used to speak out for little humans, and the big stupid humans at times as well.
I don't mean to minimize the death of Cecil the lion, but I do hope those pitchfork weildin' types would target the source instead of the symptom. Social media outrage possibly closed a dental practice, cost peeps jobs and wrecked a man's life but poaching in Zimbabwe is alive and well and will remain so long after the little stuffed animals and flowers have been removed from Palmer's office doorstep. Directed rage is a powerful thing. Directed love, even more so.
I am a writer. I love writing - and I am returning to it. Peace.