Preamble - I have edited this note at the request of someone who I respect, who has seen me grow through the years and whose advice I value. Her imput was well worth it. Thanks Aunt J.
So I wrote this blog page twice yesterday. Twice. And trust me by the time I got through writing it, twice and losing it – twice - I was effing pissed.
Yesterday, while writing the first of these three entries, I spoke about Moorlands and bathroom smells and how both are one and the same. Yes, I was recently in a bathroom that smells like Moorlands, or reminds me of Moorlands. I don’t how to describe it except to say that, that smell is fresh, rejuvenating; carrying an air of something alive, beautiful and special. Yes, for me Moorlands has a smell. Rob Gordon, said once that, “…a mystery of human chemistry and I don't understand it, some people, as far as their senses are concerned, just feel like home.” I think that places are the same…and Moorlands is that for me. As far as my human sense is concerned Moorlands is one of those places that feels like home.
It’s one of the few places, which reminds me of a life that was simplier, uncomplicated, right or wrong, black or white – and that was okay. Where I had my goals of family and personal success and was working diligently towards both.
It’s unfortunate that the last two potential blog entries were deleted. I’ve lost a lot of the material that I wanted to talk about. More complete thoughts on how I was feeling and the immediate purging that I was going through. I feel though I must mention that today in my frustration about the loss of my blog entries and my life in general, a friend of mine had me on the phone for at least half an hour trying to help me through, well, simply the anger. This same person then came by my office while I was on my usual rampage and well, held me. He held on to me. And I in turn said that my wanting to be with him was stupid.
Truth is, he is the only one that didn’t let go of me. In our relationship, when I ran he was there in hot pursuit. When persons discouraged our being together he asked me to stay, to be the strong one. I think that if I had held on, fought it out and stood with him in the crossfire that I later described our relationship; made people really believe that he was what I wanted, that we would still be together. And we would be happy. He has his faults as we all do, but nevertheless, he is always there for me even when I don’t want him to be.
So now, having gotten over my literary loss, I’m building a third post with new material. A new “present” I suppose.
Anyone who knows me well, knows I live in the past. I love who I once was, the people who I once knew, the places where I have been that I revisit religiously (Hollywell anyone?) I love to hold to nostalgia. I often speak about my life as, “Do you remember the time when…”
Unfortunately, the danger that lies herein is that I will not steadily move forward. I will not be able to move beyond what I believe my life should be. I know I must have written a blog about growing older and moving forward, forgetting the mistakes of the past and pressing on to the greater achievements of the future (and yes I stole that line). The thing is that I perceive my past to be my merit, the make up of the good things about me, the things people respect as “Michaelia”. My present no longer coincides with the dreams of my childhood and so with uncertainty I move through life, cringing every time I make an error (or feel I’ve made and error) and then end up wondering, “What the f--- am I doing?”
As for that four letter word, it’s more than a taboo in my past. It is an unspoken, unthought-of, unholy word. And yet in my present, the use of it makes me feel human. Not the flaunting of it the way others do as if it has no meaning, the way people use it flippantly as verb, noun and adjective as if saying it three or four times in succession actually can substitute for a coherent sentence. No, when I say “f---” you know I’m angry and not just your regular angry. It’s an angry beyond reason, unmistakably angry. A word to the wise, and this is by no means a dare, do not mess with me when I’m in “f--- mode”.
That said, I actually feel at peace using the eff word (more so now than ever) and Moorlands in the same conversation. I feel as if I am slowly bringing a balance to the person I should be, the person I would like to be and the person I am.
As for what I wanted and my goals, well, for one of them I am still looking. I am still looking for my Lloyd Dobbler, my Mr. Darcy, my Tom Lefroy, my Dr. McDreamy, my Jacob and maybe one day he’ll find me. I wrote yesterday that my cousin, the Cancer Survivor, accomplished doctor at the tender age of 25 has now embarked on her newest journey – spending the rest of her life with a love that will do anything for her. Her Jacob, McDreamy (literally, he’s a doctor too). And yesterday, I wondered, what was it that separated us, my cousin and I? Why did she have it all together and why am I still fighting for my happily ever after? Why am I still alone? I also mentioned something about, “If anyone says I am not alone and that I have God then I’d be past effing pissed if there is a superlative for that considering that she has Jesus Christ and all the saints as well”. The truth is, I do not really have the answer. Maybe I am being punished for some former sin. Maybe it’s because I can un-apologetically use the eff word and Moorlands in the same sentence. Maybe I am too skinny, too opinionated, too loud, too controlling, to out-of-control, to worldly, too independent – just too much.
Maybe it’s just not my time. But then again, have I done something to make it not my time or was it never my time? If I could have the answer to that question, I think it would appease the anger and frustration quite a bit.
Until such a time however, I guess I’ll just have to keep blogging…and using the eff word…but only occasionally.
