I have about ten drafts hanging out around here. Some go back a few years, even. This one I started last November, but it mostly still applies. It seems that my emotional state tends to be somewhat of a broken record, anyway. So here goes.
I wish I had somebody to talk to right now, but since I’m a blubbering fool, I wouldn’t be able to speak coherently anyway. I do have someone to talk to, several, in fact, and I’m truly grateful — yet I don’t always feel like I’m truly understood. It would be nice to be understood.
~*~*~*~
It can be a serious character flaw, to want to please one and all. It would behoove me to grow a backbone. It could come in handy both in my professional life and my personal life. Instead of standing tall, puffing out my chest, and deflecting the onslaught with wisdom and grace, I take it, and take it, and keep on taking it. But later, I have to pay the piper. It all goes inside and churns away at me so that I find myself short of breath.
I wish I could be like Superman. The way he soars up, up, and away, closer to the sun, folds his arms across his chest, closes his eyes, and rests and recharges. Then he’s all strong and rejuvenated, and ready to blaze into action. Me, I hear the cacophony of demands, wails, criticisms, insinuations, whines, expectations, opinions and complaints, but rather than filter through it and find the nuggets of goodness, I feel as though I’ve got kryptonite shrapnel embedded all through me, and I’m incapacitated so that all I can do is curl into fetal position while I’m kicked around, hoping for it to end, searching my mind and my will for some fragment of strength to hold onto and pull myself up, up, out and away from this mess.
Is it very helpful to be told I should be stronger? Not much.
I commented to some of my work friends that I should develop a shell to shut these things out, but they almost all said that if I did, it should be selective to only those necessary. In a way, that’s a heartening thing to hear. It perhaps supports that there is value and merit in the kindness and softness that exposes my vulnerabilities.
~*~*~*~
What’s in a name? I’m wanting to change my name. I didn’t have it changed in the divorce, because I didn’t have any hard feelings toward Gadget at the time, apart from the simple fact that the marriage absolutely had to end. Mainly, the kids have the same name, so I thought it would be less confusing as we go through life to have the same name.
However. As time goes by, and shades of character unveil, I find myself wanting to remove all traces, insomuch as is possible.
I could take back my maiden name, but I hesitate to do that. I think that I associate it with an identity of who I used to be, rather than who I am. That was someone from a previous life. Someone who wasn’t as sure of herself as I’d wished her to be.
It raises the question, ‘Who am I?’ Which prompts the response, ‘24601’. What if I changed my name to Valjean?
Sueeeus Maximus Valjean.
I kind of like it. People will think I’m whacked. Which, maybe I am. My dead brother would totally get it, though. He’d dig it.
~*~*~*~
BB has told me several times lately that he wants me to become a vampire so that I “don’t never die”. It troubles me somewhat that my mortal demise is so prevalent in his thoughts.
~*~*~*~
I do need to be stronger. I get that. I just don’t want to be told. It’s another one of those character flaws. I’m pretty sure that if I could get rested, I might just be stronger. It’s so elusive, though, is rest. Meanwhile, the children call. I hear the youngest crying.
