highs and lows

you, whoever you are, knew this was coming. knew i wouldn’t be able to resist the words that are itching to leave my fingertips. and as a disclaimer i must say *read no further* please.

please just stop reading my blog.

because try as i might, i just can’t seem to quit writing it. nor do i want to. and i shouldn’t even have to whisper that i am allowed this. this is me. and if you don’t like it, if it pulls scabs off your own skin, if it bubbles up wounds from your own life, then to quote bob dylan: ‘go away from my window, leave at your own chosen speed. i’m not the one you want babe. i’m not the one you need.’ i cannot be responsible for your happiness. i cannot be blamed wholeheartedly for the shift that happened post partum, for the need that was unmet, for the change that was inevitable, for the puzzle pieces that went missing that inturn created what was to become, for the clash and loss and transparency it created in me.

And you have no idea
No idea how it feels to be on your own
In your own home
with the fucking phone
And the mother of gloom
In your bedroom
Standing over your head
With her hand in your head
With her hand in your head

it’s dark at dinnertime now with daylight savings. neighbors drive home from their shift, sweating through their blue collars. 70 degrees at 7pm. they arrive in the driveway to a yard full of yapping dogs and window screens full of screaming wives.

i think of highs and lows. for all of us. in all our homes, in our separate little bubbles. living lives so similiar spaced out only by miles. i can’t help but think of all of us. my extended family, my neighbors, my community, my world. i think of our day, all of our days. and how they go. how they start and restart and backfire and rev and decelerate and speed while carrying us as passengers along for the ride. always along for the ride. up and down, and not really ever in control.

i think of all of us all the time. because that is who i am. and if you don’t know that about me now then you never will. and that’s a shame. but i will not swallow your words anymore. i simply will not.

You say my time here has been some sort of joke
That I’ve been messing around
Some sort of incubating period
For when I really come around
I’m cracking up

so leave me the fuck alone when i say i am sad. or when i mention i am happy. or when i bask in the glory of being blessed. leave me the fuck alone to ride these hills and valleys and simply enjoy the fucking scenery when it’s there and wonder where the beauty is when it’s gone. i’m allowed this up and down. and i’m teaching my son this as well, this thing called humanity. this is normal. this is not dwelling on the negative or seeping in the sad. this is fucking life. high and low. anyone who doesn’t want to hear about it can turn the page and find another book to read.

And I’ve been poked & stoked
It’s all smoke, there’s no more fire
Only desire
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are

do you know what is normal? feeling emotion. that is normal.

also being exactly who you are supposed to be. that is normal too.

Poetry is no place for a heart that’s a whore
And I’m young & I’m strong
But I feel old & tired
Overfired

over dinner i asked river what the high point of his day was. ‘what was your favorite part of the day?’ he smiled real big and said ‘rolling down that hill and making myself dizzy’ and i smiled real big too because secretly i was hoping he’d say that. i shared my high point of the day with him. ‘my favorite part of the day was when i was laughing outloud so hard my cheeks hurt. when you were doing log rolls down that hill and making yourself dizzy.” i laughed just thinking about it. about how he did this over and over and over about a zillion times so much that he was grass stained and red rashed from rolling in the grass. each time he reached the bottom he’d try standing and sway like a drunken sot and fall over on his face laughing like a maniac from the spinning world of chaos around him. yes, that was the best. the perfection of the sky and the grass and the trees and him and me all wrapped up in it.

‘what was your least favorite part of the day?’ i ask and i swallow a drink of water preparing myself for what i think is coming. these highs and lows are tough. it’s easy to shy away from the real high and low. the real low can leave you vulnerable, almost too human, but i think it’s important. i want him to know that i am human, made of emotion just like him. ‘i didn’t like it when that baby hit me on the head with that toy’ huh. that was not what i was expecting. i don’t even remember this happening actually. ‘and i told him, ‘don’t hit me on the head!’ and i said that to him’

oh yes, i remember now seeing you both in the backyard. you playing Davey with your hands on your hips pretending to be 11 years old, the magical age for you. i remember seeing you stand so much taller than he and thinking you could really do some damage if you wanted to start wrestling in that moment of preschooler impulse. ‘i’m proud of you for using your words with that baby, that’ll help him learn not to hit.’

now it was my time to share. ‘you know what my least favorite part of the day was?’ certainly he remembered. ‘my low of today was yelling at you to get in the car… when i spoke sharply to you when i was frustrated and scared that my car was broken again, and the traffic was zooming so fast near us on the side of the road. that was my least favorite part of the day.’ and i don’t mention all the curse words i said over the steering wheel through the windshield and how i fought back the tears with anger cause that’s what i do in the face of emergency. that is, until i got home and sat down in the driveway next to the flowing pool of sickly sweet smelling coolant and i broke down and cried into my hands. i don’t mention how i learned from you the meaning of the word ‘unconditional’ when you asked me gently ‘momma do you need a hug?’ and offered it to me after i had been so ugly in my adult sized frustration.

Oh I wish I wish I wish I was born a man
So I could learn how to stand up for myself
Like those guys with guitars
I’ve been watching in bars
Who’ve been stamping their feet to a different beat
To a different beat
To a different beat

so you, whoever you are, let me be. you are not one person today but you are the collection of years of words and memories coming out in one stream of consciousness today. so don’t get your feathers ruffled when you think i’m writing about you because i’m not. you whoever you are, you are simply the trigger, the catalyst for thought and racing hearts that create words like this. you are me and how i fit myself into my life path. so let me be when i’m thrashing about on the floor when i’m wailing and kicking and crying. and even if i do it here in this space, this space i created for me out of a sheer need to find a voice. just let me be.  i dont’ want to hurt you but i might if you get too close. so back away. stop reading if it’s causing you to feel emotions that make you do things you know you shouldn’t.

please.

let me be. when i’m happy, overcome, thrilled by the truth of love and the power of freedom. just let me be. i dont’ want you watching my every movement, commenting on my song or if it’s out of key or finally in tune or thankfully not so fucking sad anymore. let me be who i am stumbling or skipping and mentioning the greatness that today or yesterday or tomorrow perhaps i will not be {gasp} sad. because sad is what you shove down, but sad is what i sing in order to heal.

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I’m all right for you
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lyrics by Martha Wainwright. and many thanks to kate for handing them over at just the right moment, for feeling that it was time to pass this brightly lit torch to my outstretched hand; grasping at something i couldn’t yet find, something to help me light that path, to help me find my way through it.