Planning a Rebirth...
I've been very pensive lately. And I have not avoided the Internet as much as I've been in a state of reflection about everything, including my writing. Writing has always been an outlet for me.
But yet, I had a big revelation about three weeks ago. I was reading freep.com. You can sign in and comment on stories there.
I was reading the commentary, thinking to myself that folks around here are really bitter and angry and spiteful. It suddenly hit me like chilly spring raindrops on your face when you walk around the block in April contemplating existence - do I sound like that? I was reading the way everyone wrote about life and issues in a way that was(is)so beyond passionate, but downright angry? And it was a pure reflection to me of how the general span of personalities is in this area. Yes, I am sure of this. I have lived here my entire life excepting for a brief stint in Chicago that would make for a fantastic blog sometime, and I've visited other places where people are genuinely happier. Notice, I didn't say "nicer." I said happier. And this is important. I believe this area is full of people who would love a better lifestyle, but it's just not here. Folks that are here are here for one or more of three main reasons.... 1. Employment is here (at least for the brief present moment) and leaving is not an easy or sometimes feasible option. 2. Family is here, along with all the obligations and joys alike that go along with having the choice to live where family is. 3. Subject person or people living in Detroit has never visited anywhere else and has no idea what is being missed.
People around here talk like they are contemplating violence at any given time. Like rubber bands wound so tightly folks can't breath, and will bust open any moment.
Compared to what? Compared to most other places I've been exposed to. Check out the locak papers for Houston, Texas or Tampa, Florida or Seattle, Washington or Boston, Massachusettes.
People do not sound like they do here. And I have realized that I am no different. I live in a state of frustration twenty-four hours a day, with no real free time to speak of. I've had no social life for years. My marriage is strained, my finances are strained, and as a direct result, I'm ready to bust any second.
And - it shows. In my writing, at least.
But just as this isn't the life I wanted, or even chose, this isn't the way I wanted to ever resort to presenting myself to the world or feeling, literally. You can argue that this is the "real" me because I didn't censor anything that was actually published, but I'm going to take a hardcore stance and disagree. Because I believe, wholeheartedly, that life is what you make it.
And I haven't been making mine so good. I get upset because I'm so honestly tired. Yeah, I know, everyone is tired, and while I will say I don't live in a place where I'm victimized as a 7 year old stuck in 14 hour days working child labor, reality isn't honestly too far off from that. I've now had two miscarriages this year. I firmly believe this is a direct result of stress and strain alone. I am alone 3/4 of every day, including what little sleep time I have. My husband and any sense of family that I was starting to feel with him are out-of-state every day and night during the week, and have been for a good year-and-a-half now. Every single concession in life over the past 6 or 8 years was done with the expectation that it was a sacrifice to allow something good to happen later. And most of those concessions brought little or nothing more than just the agony of their existence.
And yet, I have the same soul within me that I'd have back when life was a little bit easier, or that I'd have if I lived in a place with 48 hour workweek industries, great nightlife, people my own age, and something to look foward to other than the next meeting to discuss how bad the economy is. The very same soul, and the very same heart beating. So there is no reason to fall into the cynical, crabby, ruthless, nearly violent persona that everyone around me has adopted, and I think I came very close to adopting myself.
I'm not a cynical person at heart. I used to write so light-hearted and brilliant with humor - usually pointed right back at myself. Then I started writing about family issues. Then, eventually, I only wrote about small-talk to pass some time, and/or some big issue going on in the news everywhere.
Blog fodder was everywhere around me. My life was exciting and vivacious. Where did that go?
I will re-invent it. I will find myself amongst this sea of deadlines and demands and overdue bills and responsibility overload. I will find myself under the rubble, dig me out, and start anew. And hopefully write about things and issues as I used to.
I started blogging in the year 2001. Three blogs ago, I still have many archives I've saved. I remember the very first blog I came across in the year 2000 was Acidman's. God rest his soul. He was a funny southerner who didn't pull any punches or take any shit. I read his blog for ages until he died, and when he died, I couldn't believe it was true. But he left behind quite a legacy. One of his music clips is on my desktop, and his blog is still alive and well. Someone close to him reposts old stuff all the time to keep it going.
What is my legacy? A bunch of lunacy and ranting and wishing I could score a job in some sunny state away from all these depressing people and a sinking economy, that would offer me relocation covering both of my houses and transplanting my entire family? Let's hope not.
A legacy is created.
But yet, I had a big revelation about three weeks ago. I was reading freep.com. You can sign in and comment on stories there.
I was reading the commentary, thinking to myself that folks around here are really bitter and angry and spiteful. It suddenly hit me like chilly spring raindrops on your face when you walk around the block in April contemplating existence - do I sound like that? I was reading the way everyone wrote about life and issues in a way that was(is)so beyond passionate, but downright angry? And it was a pure reflection to me of how the general span of personalities is in this area. Yes, I am sure of this. I have lived here my entire life excepting for a brief stint in Chicago that would make for a fantastic blog sometime, and I've visited other places where people are genuinely happier. Notice, I didn't say "nicer." I said happier. And this is important. I believe this area is full of people who would love a better lifestyle, but it's just not here. Folks that are here are here for one or more of three main reasons.... 1. Employment is here (at least for the brief present moment) and leaving is not an easy or sometimes feasible option. 2. Family is here, along with all the obligations and joys alike that go along with having the choice to live where family is. 3. Subject person or people living in Detroit has never visited anywhere else and has no idea what is being missed.
People around here talk like they are contemplating violence at any given time. Like rubber bands wound so tightly folks can't breath, and will bust open any moment.
Compared to what? Compared to most other places I've been exposed to. Check out the locak papers for Houston, Texas or Tampa, Florida or Seattle, Washington or Boston, Massachusettes.
People do not sound like they do here. And I have realized that I am no different. I live in a state of frustration twenty-four hours a day, with no real free time to speak of. I've had no social life for years. My marriage is strained, my finances are strained, and as a direct result, I'm ready to bust any second.
And - it shows. In my writing, at least.
But just as this isn't the life I wanted, or even chose, this isn't the way I wanted to ever resort to presenting myself to the world or feeling, literally. You can argue that this is the "real" me because I didn't censor anything that was actually published, but I'm going to take a hardcore stance and disagree. Because I believe, wholeheartedly, that life is what you make it.
And I haven't been making mine so good. I get upset because I'm so honestly tired. Yeah, I know, everyone is tired, and while I will say I don't live in a place where I'm victimized as a 7 year old stuck in 14 hour days working child labor, reality isn't honestly too far off from that. I've now had two miscarriages this year. I firmly believe this is a direct result of stress and strain alone. I am alone 3/4 of every day, including what little sleep time I have. My husband and any sense of family that I was starting to feel with him are out-of-state every day and night during the week, and have been for a good year-and-a-half now. Every single concession in life over the past 6 or 8 years was done with the expectation that it was a sacrifice to allow something good to happen later. And most of those concessions brought little or nothing more than just the agony of their existence.
And yet, I have the same soul within me that I'd have back when life was a little bit easier, or that I'd have if I lived in a place with 48 hour workweek industries, great nightlife, people my own age, and something to look foward to other than the next meeting to discuss how bad the economy is. The very same soul, and the very same heart beating. So there is no reason to fall into the cynical, crabby, ruthless, nearly violent persona that everyone around me has adopted, and I think I came very close to adopting myself.
I'm not a cynical person at heart. I used to write so light-hearted and brilliant with humor - usually pointed right back at myself. Then I started writing about family issues. Then, eventually, I only wrote about small-talk to pass some time, and/or some big issue going on in the news everywhere.
Blog fodder was everywhere around me. My life was exciting and vivacious. Where did that go?
I will re-invent it. I will find myself amongst this sea of deadlines and demands and overdue bills and responsibility overload. I will find myself under the rubble, dig me out, and start anew. And hopefully write about things and issues as I used to.
I started blogging in the year 2001. Three blogs ago, I still have many archives I've saved. I remember the very first blog I came across in the year 2000 was Acidman's. God rest his soul. He was a funny southerner who didn't pull any punches or take any shit. I read his blog for ages until he died, and when he died, I couldn't believe it was true. But he left behind quite a legacy. One of his music clips is on my desktop, and his blog is still alive and well. Someone close to him reposts old stuff all the time to keep it going.
What is my legacy? A bunch of lunacy and ranting and wishing I could score a job in some sunny state away from all these depressing people and a sinking economy, that would offer me relocation covering both of my houses and transplanting my entire family? Let's hope not.
A legacy is created.
articulated by the bold espresso bean at 6:26 PM
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