Wednesday, April 20, 2011

... I Can't Talk Right Now...

Some years ago when I was a young traveler, I met Sean “Diddy” Combs outside of his New York studio.


A light colored vehicle pulled up a few feet from where I was conversing with one of the building security guards near the curb. I was a little nervous to be meeting one of my idols, but I felt prepared. All four doors opened, and a guy got out on each side. The front passenger caught my eye, and since I wasn’t so shy back then I decided I was going to get his number after I spoke to Mr. Combs about a business deal. He had announced he was looking for writers for a film and TV project he was working on and I was looking to get hired. Yes, I was that bold back then.

I studied the two guys that were in the backseat before I started to scan the four of them again. It took me a minute to realize that Diddy was the cute one I had been eye-balling earlier. I never gave his looks a second thought before, so I thought sure I had pegged the wrong guy. I subtly eased myself into different positions on the street to get a good look and make sure it was him. At one point he was standing directly under a streetlight talking to someone, and I still thought he was too cute for me to call it, but then he moved into the well lit lobby and there was no mistaking the features. It was definitely him, and he was definitely very, very good looking.

The security guy made good on an earlier agreement to let him know I had been there all night hoping to speak to him. I saw Diddy nod and then walk away, after a minute he came back into view, through the glass doors, walked right over to me and smiled. “What’s up? You wanted to speak to me?” He smelled like the perfect combination of chocolate and cinnamon.

Now, you should know that when a person feels faint any rehearsed speech they might have prepared goes right out of the mind’s window. The only thing left in my head, crammed into my cheeks and hanging on to the tip of my tongue at that moment was, “Damn, you’re hot! Damn, you’re hot! Damn, you’re hot!” And it was going in a loop like that, too.

“I was told you had some writing for me?” he said and I nodded. I knew if I opened my mouth to speak the only thing that would come out would be “Damn, you’re hot!”

“Is this it?” he reached for the envelope in my hand. I had forgotten I was holding it. In fact, I had probably forgotten I even had hands in that moment.

He opened the envelope and peeked in, “Oh, wow, you brought a lot for me, hunh? Can I take this whole thing? Can I keep this and read it?” Gee, what a nice a helpful guy, doing all the talking like that.

I nodded again.

“Thank you.” He flipped through some of the pages leaning towards to streetlight before pushing them back in the envelope. He said something else after that I can’t recall, but I remember the feeling in my tummy and throat when I made some kind of grunting sound to which he responded, “Sure!” and proceeded to give me the biggest, warmest hug. He thanked me again and (I think) I thanked him too as he made his way back into the building and disappeared from my sight. I managed to float back to where I was living at the time where I passed out with a smile on my face. I woke up the next morning with the realization that I had completely made an ass of myself in front of someone I really admired on top of having totally failed my mission to impress him with my fabulous communication skills and get a job.

So I am here again, stuck in another progress blocking loop.

You may have noticed a change in tone in this blog over the last so many months. The content is still coming from my heart, but I admit some of the content was fairly surface and superficial.

It’s not that my heart isn’t in it, because my heart is part of the problem. My head is the other part of the problem.

For quite some time now, I’ve had the same blob of thoughts going around in a loop in my head and I’m afraid if I open my mouth to say something, everything else is going to come shooting, tumbling, or oozing out. I don’t want to kill, topple, or slime anyone so I just keep my mouth shut but as you can imagine this can be problematic.

You can’t safely keep those types of thoughts pinging around in your head too long because it gets to be very unhealthy. But my heart and my health are inconsequential to the big picture. And the order of the day is to not disturb certain things and certain people so like I said, I keep my mouth shut and try to choke on the words as quietly as I can in the corner.

That will also explain why some of the other posts seem angry and cranky. I’m tired of holding everything in. As you might imagine, being mad about being angry causes the animal to feed on itself. It’s a pretty big. The bloat is unbelievable.

As I approach the two year anniversary of this blog, I wonder how I can go on.

On the one hand, writing is one of the few things that still keeps me sane. Blogging has been helpful to me to force me to better organize my time for writing in general and helping a lot with things on the fiction end. On the other hand, I don’t want to write something that doesn’t represent me. There are endless sources online if you just want to read some bum’s opinion on generic topics in politics and entertainment. That’s not what I wanted to do here. I have watched so many people repeat the same mistakes over and over again and I’ve learned from it. I had hoped that by sharing some of my own experiences and what I learned from them I might help someone else, too.

Which is where the loop comes back in.

You ever see that movie, “Eve’s Bayou” where a psychically gifted little girl played by an itty bitty Jurnee Smollett tries to see into the mind of her slightly traumatized sister played by an itty bitty Meagan Good only to find …SPOILER ALERT… the sister’s memory is running in a loop that won’t allow her to remember what happened between her and her father?...SPOILER ENDS.

I’m kind of both characters. Cisely isn’t even aware of what she’s doing, she just knows she can’t answer anyone’s questions. And Eve can see enough to know something’s wrong, but she can’t get past the blocks to get the answers she needs.

For me, the question (however fuzzy) is present.

I have clues, some cryptic, and some just horribly painful, to the answer. And I feel paralyzed not knowing

Imagine looking at a mesmerizing picture of something incredible, but the picture has a giant hole in the worst possible spot, distorting the image so much it becomes impossible to really know what you’re really looking at. So you look harder and longer because now you have to know what the full image is. It’s all you can think about.

Unfortunately almost all obsessions tend to overwhelm. Eventually you get tired, tired, tired of trying to figure out the full image, but the picture has sound or something, and it keeps making this horrible sound to call your attention to it. (Using a screaming pink elephant as a canvas, maybe?)

It doesn’t seem fair to try and talk about it without having all the details, but it’s come to the point where it’s hard to do anything else because you can’t talk about it. So you decide again to talk about it, but you’re afraid if you say any words out loud, you’ll explode and take out a few others with you when you go.

This is where I am.

I don’t want to blame anybody. I’m not mad at anyone about it. I don’t have any expectations about anyone doing anything. I just need some answers. I want to be able to identify the feelings, say the words, and speak the truth no matter how ugly it may be. Except any time I halfway mention it, everyone goes into defense mode and swears they did the best they could and it’s not their fault, blah, blah, blah. Their other defense is to go limp, and play dumb, like they don’t even understand what I’m saying and can’t seem to grasp the intent of my words.

I don’t know how to make people understand that I did not build this bomb to destroy anyone or anything around me. I just woke up one day with it in my hand and can’t figure out how to safely disarm it. I’ve tried throwing it and running away from it, but it appears to be on some sort of yo-yo string. Or maybe it’s boomerang bomb. Or maybe it’s not in my hands at all; maybe it’s in my heart. Either way, wherever I go, there it is.

I (sort of) made a decision to face it. It’s past the point of ignoring and I can feel that’s it’s going to squeeze the life out of me if I don’t make things right, figure out the picture, and declare it whatever it is. But it hurts me if I look at it, and hurts me if I look away. I feel like I am being tortured. And I feel like an idiot for not being able to make it go away. And like a narcissist for thinking about it at all. And just all around defective for even having it in my life.

As best as I can tell there are about eight of you that drop by regularly, and a few other wayward strangers that fall on to a page. I appreciate all of your visits, and continued support even when the posts come across as something that amounts to, “Hey, look, a piece of lint. I like lint. Lint is nice. Three cheers for lint!”

I’m not saying that I am going away, or even that I am taking a break, but while I decide what I’m going to do next and how I’m going to do it, I felt like I owed it to you to let you know what’s been going on. As hard as this is for me to admit, blabbing to random strangers is the closest thing I have to a support system, so this is my way of saying, “thanks!” and that I am grateful to have you here.

Whatever I don’t believe in, I definitely believe that people can connect spiritually without ever having to meet or really know someone. So, if you have it in your heart to just think a warm thought about me, or if you have a little to spare, send a little courage my way, I would appreciate that, too.

And then whatever happens, I’ll do my best to not leave you hanging with any crappy, surface posting. I make no promises about the angry stuff.

Thanks for everything.

Oh mighty Lord of Earworms…
Thank you for Kenna. He is in the third and highest class of singers. He doesn’t sound like everyone’s stereotype of a good singer (Think “loud, long note-holders”) but his voice is different; it’s better, and it touches something down in the bottom of your soul. I am most grateful for this gift.

Hell Bent

Kenna - Hell Bent by Kenna

War in Me


Red Man

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