Conflicted

I may seem like I always know exactly how I feel or what I think. Or that I am really well acquainted with the path I am supposed to be on. But the truth is, I ain’t. Like many, I am constantly conflicted.

Perhaps this is an occupational hazard – maybe it’s a you know, writer-thang. I suppose it’s feasible, we deal in imagination and make believe a lot so I guess it’s easy to get confused about what I want to be when I grow up. Of course, there is that proviso that I have to grow up. And maybe that is where the conflict arises – I don’t want to grow up.

Mom used to tell me when I was a little kid that I was born 40. I didn’t really understand what it meant, but I did know it was kind of an insult. Perhaps I wasn’t chipper enough as a child, or because I preferred to sit in the apple tree and read rather than play with dolls that made me a non-user-friendly kid. Who knows? But my point is, I’ve already been an adult. I was an adult when I was a kid – so now I want to be a kid. Never mind the fact that each day I am greeted with some new ache, pain or bizarre loss of flexibility. Never mind that Miss Clairol isn’t covering those little ‘ultra blonde’ hairs as well as it used to. Never mind that my ass isn’t defying gravity with the same gusto of days past. I still want to be a kid.

I want to tell bad jokes, laugh at my stupid behavior and be unabashedly honest no matter who it makes uncomfortable.

All fine and well you might say, ‘be a kid.’ There’s only one hitch…I know that I really, truly can’t. I know that bills have to paid, laundry has to be done, savings have to saved, teeth have to be cleaned and all the other many things that go with being a responsible adult.

I have always chosen the responsible path. I wanted to stay home and write and live on mac and cheese and be a bohemian. But did I? Nope, I got a job, paid my bills and acted responsibly. I wanted to read and paint and dance. But instead I took the car in for a tune up, paid more bills, worked a 40 hour a week job and punched in and out. Always too exhausted to do a damn thing by the time I got home.

All the great, fresh ideas and plans that rumbled through my head during the day while I was ‘working’ magically disappeared during the drive home. Was it because as soon as I arrived I had doggies that needed to be fed, mail that needed to be opened, dinner cooked, obligatory conversations with roomie? I dunno. All I know is that they vanish into thin air and don’t return until there isn’t a damn thing I can do about them.

And it’s not fair and I guess I could pout about it for the rest of my life. But I’ve already pouted about it for more years than I care to admit and it’s gotten me no closer to where I want to be. Let’s be honest, being a victim isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, it sucks.

So, somehow thanks to this blog, and those who (I am so grateful) read it plus a little help from my fwends’ I am managing to pursue a tiny little piece of my dream in the most childish manner I can muster. I have been emboldened by having this blog. By having the happily unexpected response of regular readers. My writing has improved – my mental clarity has increased and I am so much more aware of life and people and all the many things that are happening around me.

I’m still conflicted and perhaps always will be. I was raised in a blue collar family and working hard for everything is a way of life. So, if I don’t feel like I’m working a part of me doesn’t feel like I deserve success. And I have to tell you, blogging isn’t work to me. It’s fun. It’s defying my age, my upbringing, my public persona and it’s totally freeing. Conflict be damned! I’m not sure I could ever stop blogging. I know I definitely don’t want to.

And so dear readers – though I may never best my conflict – and possibly never reach the totality of my dream – I thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me just the tiniest, shiniest part of it.

WC

8 thoughts on “Conflicted

  1. I hear ya, sista! ๐Ÿ™‚

    My mom used to say, “I don’t know how to punish you, Debra – you actually like going to your room and sitting there, reading and writing!” (of course, I rarely needed to be punished, but still…)

    One of my children is semi-annoyed with me and “that blog of mine”. He says he used to like it better when I didn’t have one because now I’m “always” writing. (children and their superlatives… :-/ ) Truth be known, I only wish I could always be writing, but alas, there are so many other things that need to be done around here. And, also being the responsible sort, I continue to do them.

    As a fellow writer/blogger, I know the satisfaction you describe. Though a newbie myself, it certainly is rewarding to realize a portion of one’s dream.

    Thank you for being so consistent with your writing, and so entertaining, informative, thoughtful and encouraging to all of us who read your blog!

    Hugs,

    Debi

    Deb,

    I wonder…is this the same child who announced your hair color in the drug store? LOL. This is just one big love-fest tonight – I’m really quite taken aback that you guys seemed to have missed me so much. Thanks for being there. I’m so glad we ‘found’ each other’s blogs – there is a definite meeting of the minds (and hearts) going on here. ๐Ÿ˜‰

    WC

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  2. I have very visible proof that deep down inside I’ll always be a kid – I have a tattoo of bammbamm on my right booby ๐Ÿ™‚ And Zoe ensures that I continue to see and enjoy the world through the eyes of a child each and every day.
    I’m glad you are enjoying your blog for a deeper reason than most, as one of your selfish readers I hope that never changes so that I can continue to read what you have written..
    Did you get all those things that you needed while you ran away and deserted us?!! Glad to have ya back..
    Cheers, Kelly

    LOL Kel,

    We can’t seem to keep boobies and asses out of our conversations. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Yes, you do have your Zoe to keep you young and thank heavens for that! And LMAO I had no idea I’d run away or that you’d experience such separation anxiety.

    WC

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  3. Glad I found you … sounds to me like your blogging has allowed you to find your “voice.” It rings loud and true. –From a new reader (and a brand new blogger, for that matter, although I do have other writing experience … but we won’t go there). ๐Ÿ˜‰

    dsimple,

    I’m glad you found me too. Thanks so much for the kind words. I found your blog very uplifting – looks like we’ll be visiting a lot.

    WC

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  4. so does this mean we’re sisters???? i bags the top bunk!

    Abso toot ly! No prob on the top bunk – I get nosebleeds easily. LOL.

    BTW, I tried to visit your bunk (blog) and the dang thing wouldn’t show the pictures and every time I tried to click on comments it jumped all over the page. What’s up with that? Does’n’t it like me any more? ๐Ÿ˜ฆ

    WC

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  5. Aww, Annie…
    This is a wonderful post.
    There are so many brilliant ideas here that I’ve no idea how to comment.
    I will say that I really miss ‘sitting on my Mom’s lap’ in an abstract sense.
    Her unique and honest view of the world honestly guided me.
    Somedays I feel so lost. It’s truly sad.
    Face it, you are a writer.
    Love this post.

    ~m

    Brilliant ideas? That’s funny because even as I was posting it I worried it didn’t make a lick of sense.

    I understand what you mean about your mom. Those rare moments that our parents let us share their vision of the world – still warms the heart, eh?

    I guess we all feel lost somedays – luckily our friends know how to find us.

    WC

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  6. I know just how you feel about blogging. I never had the guts to be a writer but blogging does allow me to follow that path a few steps.

    You know how I think of it, Fuzz? I think of it as my daily column. I get to sound off about anything I am thinking about whether it’s funny, sad, wise or idiotic. And indeed, you are a writer. At least I think so.

    WC

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  7. Thank you for walking me through my own ‘moment’ of conflict. Sometimes the path we choose to walk is such a frightening, unsettling choice for us that we grown-up adults need someone to hold our hand and lead us, ever so gently, across the threshold…its not that we don’t want to go there, simply are uncertain of what lies waiting on the other side. Fortunately, there was friend such as you…there…waiting…

    And that’s what friends are for. ๐Ÿ™‚

    WC

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