“Now what?” seems like a reoccurring theme in my life. I ask that question a lot. I come up with brilliant answers too. Putting things into motion? That seems to be where I abort sequence and postpone the mission. I suppose I am a lot like the idealistic government of my dreams…a lot of talk, a lot of good ideas, but with no support; I’ve got nothing.
So, what moved me to start a blog? Perhaps it was having a lot to say and no one to say it to? Maybe it was because I have always had a passion and a talent for writing, but I’ve never had the time nor the gumption to really make it happen? Maybe I am just an opinionated person who thinks what I have to say matters, and damn it, I am going to find a place to say it; even if I have to invent it!
What moves me to write? Here’s what drives me to drink…I mean, to write. My “life”. Look, I know we all thought that we’d end up being the starting forward for the Bruins (hockey reference, if you don’t like hockey, you won’t like me) or traversing among the stars, or smiling mega-watt smiles as we stroll down the red carpet and pose for the cameras at our latest film premiere. I get that. I also get that 99.75% of us are never going to get anywhere near those dreams without the aid of an active imagination, some Absolute Vodka and/or the ability to ignore reality. (Because, eventually, the Vodka retreats from our systems and we have to get up and go to that crappy job that we swore would be temporary…). Suck it up, Buttercup. Move on. Life is a gift…Yeah. I GET IT. Trust me. My brother died suddenly when he was 18 and I was 20. It was Christmas time too, so stuff that dose of reality in your stockings. When I say “my life”, I am talking about how we all get to this place, within ourselves that we can not break free from. Some of us visit this place; just a passing glance, offer a wave and then continue on our way. Some of us, take a break, look around, check out the scenery, sign the guest book and then get the Hell out of there. While others, stop and stay awhile. We figure, we’re here, we might as well poke around a bit; only to discover the brochure was a lie and someone stole our passport and plane ticket, so here we shall stay! Since we are here, we convince ourselves that “good enough” REALLY is, good enough. We retreat so far within ourselves that we become observers of our own lives. We can look objectively at everything happening to us and around us, yet it feels like we are powerless to really change anything. We become disjointed and disconnected with what made us tick and somehow convince ourselves that it’s fine. We get apathetic. We’ve long stopped chasing after the distant chimes of the ice-cream truck on a sticky, summer’s day because, the ice-cream is over priced and who really wants to go out there anyway? When did that happen? That’s what I am talking about. That kind of apathy spills over into everything. It poisons us, our children, our communities and the world. “Life”.
Speaking of the world, that is something else I like to “discuss”. Okay, who am I kidding? I like to argue/debate. If you are a conservative, right wing, Republican, you will not like me. Nope. Not a chance. I’ll tell you why. I am an unabashed, anti-capitalist liberal. I describe myself as a Democratic Socialist. I drape myself in the Canadian flag, though I have no love for Stephan Harper. So, that is something that will appear from time to time in this blog. Political rants. Consider yourself warned. Oh, and lots of Pro-Canada rhetoric. Seriously, Tourism Canada, you may want to offer me a job after this. I am looking to relocate and I am working on my French…Engagez-moi, je suis grand! See?!
What else? Well, my kids. There are four of them so that’s a lot of material. Four sons, all different, all unique. Autism, Autism Spectrum Disorders…yup. Those will appear too. Different types of “disabilities” and struggles. Rants about other parents, teachers, adults, kids…others that don’t understand and really have no interest in understanding what makes people on the spectrum so damn fascinating. Actually, you will find that I have a low tolerance level for those that discriminate, bully or treat as a lesser human being, those who love differently than they do, who look differently than they do or think differently than they do. Dictate what goes on in your own house, but don’t subject the world to your brand of ignorance. There is too much of that going around as it is, and it tends to be contagious and I don’t like vaccines.
Creativity. Ah, yes. I am a writer. I am. It’s in me. Somewhere in this shell that used to be a hot, vivacious creature, lies a wicked brain to go with her sharp tongue. (Seriously fellas, this tongue…a thing of legend. Take that as you will.) Eventually, I will use this blog to share things I’ve written too. Right now, I am still feeling all of this out, learning the ropes, finding my way. I’ll get there. In time. Just remind me to come back. I tend to get scattered brained and not finish things I’ve started. (See beginning of post for “space” analogy.)
Which brings me to the last bit of information pertinent to this blog’s existence; being a married single mother without the benefits of a divorce. This is a real thing and I’ve discovered I am not alone. This warrants a whole post of it’s own. This limbo state of not really being married anymore, but not being free to pursue a better life for yourself and your children. It is a special kind of Hell. A Hell where you are being held captive, but your cell has a really nice view. It is the torture of wondering what sort of psychological, emotional and future damage you’ve inflicted upon your children, who are forced to live in this state of being. Mentally, it is like being bound and gagged and finally getting one hand free; only to discover that is as far as you can get. There is so much to write about here…so much. Now isn’t the time because it is late and my fingers are babbling.
My spot on the couch needs to be readied for bed. I have an old pillow and a Mickey Mouse blanket that is supposed to be my youngest son’s, to sleep with. Sometimes, the cat will come and claim some of the precious real estate the miniature sofa offers me to slumber upon. If I curl up small enough, the cat can sleep undisturbed and I can fit all of myself under the soft, woven fabric of the Mickey Mouse blanket. It smells a bit like my boy…that makes me both sad and happy. A little less and a little bit more lonely, all at once.