Writer's Workshop: If you really knew me...

courtesy of we heart it

3.) If you really knew me, you would know that…

If you really knew me, you would know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m the girl fumbling around in the dark, trying to find the light switch or even a familiar piece of furniture to rest against and get my bearings. I can sometimes almost fool myself into believing I have some modicum of a reason behind the inner workings of my mind and where my passions truly lie. I can tell you, like a girl who is interviewing for a job, that I’m smart and detail-oriented and strive for perfection and that those same things tend to get in my own way all the time. I can offer up the standard, “work in progress” answer I use whenever I join a site and it requests a bio, but that's about it.

If you really knew me, you would know that my favorite words to use about myself are “work in progress” because I don’t know how else to define this journey. It’s a cop-out. I own it. Aren’t we all that very thing? How does that show how unique I am? How does it even explain anything about me?

If you really knew me, you would know that my friends have a very different view of who I am than I do. I don’t know whose is more accurate or not, but I’m betting theirs is nicer. My friends might say that I’m loyal and funny because I want so much for people to always know that I care about them. I never felt it growing up – always feeling lost and off-to-the-side and alone – and I wasn’t a very good friend to people when I was younger. I wanted so much to be liked that I didn’t know how to be there for people. I’m funny because, well, I’m from an Irish Catholic family that repressed everything. I handled losing my father with humor because crying was wrong – even at eleven years old, I knew that. I handled feelings of worthlessness with a quick joke at my own expense because it doesn’t count if I’m laughing at myself and it proved you couldn’t hurt me. Except you really could and I just set myself up for a lifetime of negative thoughts firing out of my synapses.

If you really knew me, you would know that I really hate and love my mother fiercely. I’ve missed her so much since she passed away two years ago and yet I’m so relieved she’s not my problem anymore. I used to curse my father, wherever he might’ve gone after he died, because not only did he leave me with her, but her whole survival seemed dependent on me. And yeah, even if you really didn’t know me, you would know that the dynamic wasn’t healthy and probably not my fault, but I wouldn’t listen to you about such things.

If you really knew me, you would know that I try to give off a “whatever” or laissez faire attitude about things, but I over-analyze and fret and run around like Chicken Little, “the world’s gonna end! The world’s gonna end!” I take everything to heart. Things stay with me forever and I hate and hate and hate.

I guess that’s another thing you can know about me – I’m not very forgiving. I hold onto everything. It’s filed away on an index-card-like brain cell, fermenting and growing, and you might never even know that you hurt me, but oh the wrath I will feel and the justice I will dispel in my own imagination.

Mostly, if you really knew me, you would know how uncomfortable I am in my own skin. I put a lot of focus on my weight. It’s been ingrained in me for as long as I can remember and it’s a huge part of how I identify myself. But even beyond the weight, I never feel right. Never good enough or funny enough or smart enough - I’m never enough.

It’s a horrible way to live.

So I'm right back whre I started because I really don't know myself. There is this amazing person inside me, fighting to get out and be heard and share her lessons with the world, but she is stuck in the quicksand of “not good enough.” It’s not so much that I’m fumbling around in the dark trying to find the lights, but that I’m too afraid to turn them on and truly see.

In the end, if you really knew me, you would have a one-up on me.

writing prompt - opinion piece - another evil of BP

http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/

This week's prompts both elated and terrified me.  I knew it would push me out of my comfort zone.  And not because I'm not often telling jokes that don't go over well - I have a twisted sense of humor at times and it's always been my coping mechanism - but because to relive such things in an easy way seemed near impossible.
 
I decided to go with prompt 1:  Choose a headline from The Today Show website and write up an opinion post based on the story you chose.
 
I avoided all things Mel Gibson as I don't find it funny so much as sad.  The man is obviously crazy and this woman and her child could be in serious harm.  So many women go through these struggles behind-the-scenes and I fail to see the humor in that at all.
 
And then I spotted the headline, BP to drill for Libyan oil despite Lockerbie bomber furor, and immediately it had my attention.  I had a friend who died on that flight.  She was thirteen years old, same as me.  And to let a terrorist go under false pretenses for profit and oil makes my normally pacifist self want to go all crazykakes on these people.  I just don't understand how anyone can reach that point in life where money tops the value of human life. 
 
I'll be the first to admit, even if it were true, I don't care that the man, this terrorist,  was dying.  I don't think he deserved a peaceful death when he offered anything but to his victims.  I guess it was nice of the Scottish authorities to take compassion on someone who couldn't provide it to others, but I wouldn't have done it. 
 
But now, BP won't even answer the questions arising about the whole situation.  I'm not saying medicine always get it right and the man could possibly be one of those who lives way longer than expected (my mom-mom did that).  However, call my cynical, but when I read things like this:
 
BP signed a $900 million exploration agreement with Libya in May 2007, the same month that Britain and Libya signed an agreement that paved the way for al-Megrahi's release from a Scottish prison.
BP has admitted that it lobbied the British government over a prisoner transfer deal with Libya in late 2007, but denied playing any role in the actual decision to release al-Megrahi nearly two years later.

I am much less likely to believe what has gone down.  And after everything with the spill in the Gulf of Mexico, I think it only drives home further how much big corporations/businesses don't seem to care about anyone or anything that gets in the way of profits.  And then they try to guise it as something else when finally called to task on it (barely).

I think it says so much about the world, or at least the United States (as that's all I can really speak for) that more people aren't up in arms, pushing their senators and congressmen to do something, to fight harder for us.  Unfortunately, it doesn't say anything good.

Life changes...

This week's prompts for Mama Kat's writer's workshop were quite intriguing.  I thought about a few of them.  In fact, I've started a life list, but I'm not up to 100 things yet.  I think part of my problem is that I think of the 100 things as events rather than what could be a simple, happy moment.  I think that pretty much sums up my psyche at the moment.

Prompt:  1.) What would you change about your life if you could?

This is both a really hard and really easy question for me.  Immediately, the answer that springs into my head be healthy and lose weight.  It's something I'm working on, it's something I've worked on for years with yo-yo success, but was really driven home into me after my mother passed away last year.  She died so unexpectedly and it reminded me of how short life really is.  it's a cliche for a reason - we don't know how much time we get and why spend it miserable?

However, on my weight loss journey over the past year, the one thing I've finally realized, even on those horrible, bad days (of which there have been plenty) is that if I don't deal with other things in my life, the other reasons I'm so unhappy, losing weight loss won't change things.  It leads me to think that what I most need to change about my life right now, aside from the always hope of winning the lottery and running off to Bora Bora, is how I view myself.  I think simply changing that would change my life in so many wonderful ways.  And yet, it's probably the hardest challenge I have ever undertaken.  I didn't grow up in a house where I was supposed to be positive about myself.  I didn't grow up around people who made me feel positive about myself.  And once I was an adult, I never did anything to change that way of thinking and living. 

It's something I'm working on, one of those two-steps-forward-eight-steps-back sort of things, but I know that it can be accomplished.  Maybe it's because, at my core, I'm an eternal optimist.

I'm very skilled at saying the wrong thing...

Another week's writing workshop from Mama Kat.  This week I chose to go with Prompt 5.) Describe a moment when you put your foot in your mouth.

There really are so many options for me to choose from in my life.  I have a tendency to simply say whatever pops into my head at any given moment.  The lovely censor that most of us possess, the one that says, "Uh...wait, you really don't want to call your friend a filthy bastard" tends to sporadically disappear within the confines of my brain, leaving me to say whatever I want.  Sometimes it's good, but usually it's just an UH-OH.

It's mostly prevelant when I'm upset about something.  Of course, I think that's when most of us are at our most vulnerable when it comes to what we say.  There's a reason the saying "walk away before (I) say something (I) regret" exists.

I was no different the day this story occurred.  Luckily, it happened with friends who know me, which makes it a bit easier if not a tad more humiliating (as years later it still comes up in conversation).

I used to be a supervisor in a bank.  Despite all of the issues I had with the place, I left with some great friends.  One of my friends, Jason, was this really cool, adorable African American dude working to support his girllfriend and baby-on-the-way.   I added the race information because it comes into play, not because I walked around like the guy from the Office saying horrible things like, "This is my black friend, Jason." 

Jason and I often had long discussions while he was working in drive-thru and I was doing my supervisory stuff in my "office" near drive-thru.  We hung out outside of work, my mom often cooked him dinner (where he was such a suck up, always complimenting her and encouraging her to make her strange concoctions, which she tried to pass off as stew), and I have never had any ill-will towards Jay.  I wish all guys bould be like him for he is awesome.

And that's actually how this foot-in-the-mouth moment came.  I was having major issues with my boyfriend of the time, who had decided the best answer to his cheating on me was for us to get married.  I'm not sure how he made that leap, but I've decided to blame it on his Republicanism (sorry to any sane Republicans left out there).  I was explaining the latest conversation I had with the boyfriend the night before to Jay because he was so sweet and great with his girlfriend and surely knew what was wrong with this lunatic I dated (outside insane as an answer).  By the end of the conversation, which was mostly me talking to him about how evil the boyfriend was rather than an actual back-and-forth conversation, I was so worked up (as I am prone to do as a true drama queen) that I threw my hands up in the air and said very loudly, "I hate your race!" 

Jay looked at me with a bemused look.  For a second, I was like, "All men stick together..." inner voice drifting away as realization hit and replaced everything with "OhmygodwhatdidIjustsay!"

I turned bright red, reached for his hand and started repeating over and over, "Gender.  Gender!   I meant gender!" 

Jay and another co-worker started to laugh hysterically because I was so appalled with myself.  Continuing in my drama-queen-fashion, I managed to spend the rest of the day bemoaning my own idiocy and becoming that white girl who is like, "I'm not racist, I totally know black people and stuff" and that's never good.

Fun times.  Sadly, for a foot-in-the-mouth moment, it does make me smile.  Not about my inner Rush Limbaugh fighting to escape (EW!), but how well Jay knew me and how he totally didn't blink an eye.  We're not as close as we once were seeing as life happens, his baby was born and we all moved onto other places, but I have these great memories of our friendship and the random laughter (usually at my expense) that ensued.

a letter to a reality star who will likely never see this...

My response to this week's Mama Kat's writing prompts.  I went with prompt # 2: Write a letter to a reality star of your choice.  This was quite an easy choice for me.  I thought it would be harder as I do love quite a few reality shows (guilty pleasure out the wazoo!), but I decided to go with the first person who popped into my head.  And I'm glad that I did.



**

Dear Tori Spelling:


I have to admit that I prejudged you and hated you solely based on the character of Donna Martin from 90210 for a very long time. Don’t get me wrong. I watched and chanted “Donna Martin graduates!” right along with the rest of my obsessed teenage friends, but I really hated your character and was unable to distinguish you from Donna. I wish I could tell you that I’ve grown up a lot since then, no longer a teenager who can’t see past the role, but between you and me, the only reason I like Rob Pattison is because he’s Edward Cullen. It’s like the opposite of how I felt about you, except now I’m in my thirties and I just seem demented.

I’ll also admit to being one of the people who thought you only got the role (and subsequent Lifetime movie roles that either annoyed me or made me laugh) because your father was Aaron Spelling. I figured it was so easy for you and couldn’t care less when Donna Martin, and you in a way, finally went away from my television screen. I felt, irrationally, that you deserved it. I also felt, less irrationally, that I was quite sick of 90210 after a billion seasons and it was time for it to go away. There is only so long I can pretend to care about Dylan McKay’s sideburns.

I say all of this to apologize because I think you are awesome and if it weren’t for your reality show with your husband, I would never have known this. I’ve read both your books. I love Stori Telling because it just felt like a conversation you were having with the reader. I enjoyed Mommywood, even though I’m not a mother and have no interest in such mother-type things. And, of course, I watch your show whenever it’s on, whether I’ve already seen it or not, to a point where my friends who have known me a long time say things like, “I thought you hated her?” I have to go into this lengthy explanation of how I was wrong and who knew such a thing was even possible??? While I know the books and the show only represent a portion of who you are, I think it does prove that you are a very cool lady. You’re snarky, don’t take yourself too seriously, love shopping, and just keep trying to be who you are despite how everyone judges you. In fact, you and your friends remind me of me and my friends when we get together. It’s just a different backdrop and sadly, I can’t afford the very awesome purses and shoes that you get.

Anyway, this was sort of an apology-slash-you’re-awesome letter. And I’m sorry your mother is buckets of crazy. If it’s any consolation, I think all parents are buckets of crazy to some extent. I mean, my mother was obsessed with reading cookbooks but never cooking, and while I was little when my dad died, he was overly into sports to the point that he would scream at the television when *golf* was on. I mean, really, golf?

Your fan,

Mare

P.S. – How crazy is Shannen Doherty for real? Your book spoke a little bit to what she was like in the 90210 days, but I’d hate to misjudge her too as crazykakes unnecessarily. Honestly, I just want the dirt.

Mama's Losin' It - weekly prompt

  

3.) “What images inspire you immediately? Open a magazine and create a piece of writing (poem, story, essay) about the first image that captures your imagination.”

 


She glanced up the stairs, the sweat dripping down her face, stinging her eyes, and she swiped at the droplets with the back of her sleeve.  She had been on her twenty-fifth run up and down the stairs, a nice rhythm in her head that matched the beat of the music pumping through her headphones.  And then mid-step she had seen him standing at the top of the stairway, dressed like Mr. Hot Shit with a smirk to match, leaning against the railing.  She immediately felt betrayed by her own body as her face flushed and a nervous rumble formed in the pit of her stomach.  She hated that this guy, who had no real job but passed himself off as the next great rock star, had decided that she was his next prize.  She hated even more that she wanted it.

She continued to stare up the moss-coated stairs, trying to slow her breath and think of something witty to say, but there was nothing - great comments always came to her minutes too late.  Finally, she jogged slowly up the stairs, almost slipping on the cracked step, and stopped in front of him. 

He looked her over bemusedly and smiled.  She prepared herself for some lame attempt at humor, something that made most girls swoon, probably would do the same to her if she allowed it. 

"Hey," he said, not moving away from the railing.

She met his gaze and said, "Hey."

"I almost didn't find you out here."  She didn't respond and he finally stepped away from the railing and moved closer to her.  "I've never come this far into the park."

"Did you need something?" she said.  She was proud that she managed an air of annoyance.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?"

She motioned to the stairs. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"It'll only take a few minutes."

It was then that she knew she was a goner and truly understood how many women had fallen under his spell in the past.  He could go from looking like a Jim Morrison wannabe to an innocent little boy within seconds, flashing a smile that could melt steel and staring with such determination and adoration that a girl couldn't help but fall victim. 

She wasn't surprised when she heard herself saying, "Sure.  Let's get some coffee."