This is kinda fun. I am enjoying Songza for music I never considered before.
Tomorrow my dad would have been 66. He died 10 years ago on July 2nd, 2004 in a car accident. His car exploded when it went over a guardrail. Our family believes he had a diabetic attack while driving, having only recently been diagnosed. It was reported that he swerved to avoid hitting anyone, which is how he crashed over the rail. That was just like him. I have his smile, and oddly enough, only just realized, so does Z. I miss him.
My inner voice can be an asshole. I am totally not kidding. She says things that would immediately land me in the corner or worse, with a paddle whiffling through the air with my bottom as its unerring target, welded by my mother (Mama don’t play) were I ever to speak those words aloud.
These thoughts are self-serving and extremely self involved. The kind of thoughts that bring to mind spoiled little sterotypes in movies that are engineered to make you instantly hate the character. Only the voice in my head, she’s an even bigger bitch than that, she has no shame or filters to stop her from saying the shit she really shouldn’t say. Did I mention she only has an audience of 1? A reluctant and generally appalled inner other me that thinks, usually immediately after the thought comes, that this bitch has gotta go.
See, this inner voice is a person completley unworthy of the person I want to be. Usually this rude voice in my head appears when I am thwarted by something or someone getting in the way of something I want or need. Like more time at home, or with my family, a paycheck, or something that is not what I am currently being forced by circumstances or society (generally earning a living falls under this category) to be or do something when I really, really want (with my whole being) to be doing something else. You know, the FUN stuff. There is also that sense of not being seen or appreciated. This often results in bitchy inner voice trying to rationalize her commentry. This rarely works because my other inner voice sooo has my back on this crap. She knows that bitchy inner voice is out of line and has the tools she needs to give bitchy inner voice a hard reality check. Hockey has nothing on my inner bestie. She kicks where it hurts, and having the advantage of knowing my every thought and personal memories, she hits precisely and accurately.
Still, I know bitchy inner voice is in there waiting all the time, for me to be tired and cranky. For me to snap judgment or make an assumption. For me to be hurt or ackwardly embarrassed enough to let my guard down. Then she saunters in like an overly dressed social climber with a Prada addiction to tap on my spine and munch on my shortcomings.
I admit I have an inner bitchy voice. She is not my friend. She has never been my friend. She is all the crap that was ever mislearned from experience. Things that I heard from others being unkind about someone. Things I created to cope with my own shortcomings as a means to explain them. These are the parts of me I seek to change. The parts I seek to admit to and clean out like a newlywed in her husbands naughty cupboard. I am not perfect, and admitting that is the first step to making sense of the voice that is not kind. I forgive her, she is part of me. She is nothing more, or less, than a voice I created slowly over time and years of negative thinking. She is forgiven her existence, but I am slowly changing her into someone more like my bestie voice. I am changing her because she deserves to be called something other than my inner bitch. Perhaps inner champion will be a better use of her time.
I will never be done with this work. It is something that must be done consciously, the way one does their morning chores. I want to never stop trying to be a better person, inside and outside myself.
Dear Keanu, I happened upon an article online, that kinda annoyed me. It talked about your love life, your acting, your manner while being interviewed, as well as a host of other things meant to make fun of you or examine you like a frog on a table in science class. They even went so far as to attempt to identify why people like you even after all these years. They suggested that your popularity was due to your being more than one race, to the fact that you are an every man, that you are non-offensive (whatever the hell that means). What they never even came close to identifying, is the real reason I like you myself.
I like you. I do not like you because you are a celebrity. That is what you do, not who you are. I do not like you because you have been in lots of movies, or have the dough to live a lavish lifestyle. NOPE. Good looks? Nah! I like people and them being easy upon the eyes has never much interested me as a requirement. I like you..you have a twinkle, a spark, an uncurable nervous energy that leads you into seeking more to do, more to try, more to experience.
I like you because you never stop adapting. Trying new things, atempting to grow. You do not feel sorry for yourself, in fact, you thrive on mistakes, learning from things seems to set you on fire to conquer and become. You go about reading and discussing things that matter to you, while vemenantly refusing to discuss things that really are only your own business. You never ask for people to be kinder to you, you accept that this is something they either will do or won’t do. I like you, because it is perfectly ok with you for that to be the way it is.
I like that I do not know all about you. That you are, at the heart of yourself, not up for microscope-like analysis by others, but clearly are examining your own soul daily, attempting to be a better you.
I like that you don’t know if having 3 typewriters makes you a collector, since you figure a collector is someone who knows a bit about the things they collect and regard yourself as not yet a collector because you have not yet reached that status. I like that you even think that way.
I like that you still do not know all there is to learn about the person you are. Mostly, because I am in the same boat. When I am done learning, I will be dead, either from boredom, or (hopefully) because my time ran out before my list did.
I like you and it is not because of anything so simple as your job. It isn’t even as simple as your talent or ability to adapt to the changing years. Nope. I like you because of who you are, or at least, the you I suspect you are from the very little clues you leave behind. I like a good mystery anyway,
I get teased by many of my friends and family for being your fan, though honestly, it is not like I have photos of you on my wall (That would be weird, as I only put photos of people I have in my life personally up there), and I must admit, I am a non-traditional fan since I barely ever watch movies and have only truly ever seen a handful of yours. I get teased because I like you…for you. I don’t know beans about you in person, but what I do see makes me think there is more to you than anyone realizes. Ask me to explain what it is I like about you and I fumble..not because I don’t know..but because I cannot prove my insights. Ah well! I don’t need to explain to myself why I like you, so I am ok with not knowing just why I do.
The media can stuff it.
Ps. I am going to get teased for this post. 100% chance..see what I go through for a little bit of loyalty?
Two men look out through the same bars: One sees the mud and one the stars.
(1849 – 1923)
It’s all about perspective.
and my heart said yes,
despite weather, confusion, and carelessness.
Love tripped me,
ignored all sense of caution or practicality,
and nestled its innocent belief
into the warmth of his neck,
where the light changes into skin