Homebody

It's odd when you're a writer and you're home all day with your thoughts.  Especially when thought provoking music comes on.  You know that kind that doesn't have words, but vibrates strange feelings from your heart strings and pulls trains from your cerebellum or whatever part of your brain carries your whirlwinds of emotions. 

I have a deep connection to music and the arts.  Every piece is an expression that someone needed to get out.  It makes me cry.  Sometimes sad tears, sometimes happy. It's all so beautiful...the pain, the feeling, the release, the rawness.  It takes a lot for someone to put that piece of themselves into the world.  Sometimes, that's the only way to express themselves.  

I personally do not speak well.  I always trip on my words.  Writing is easier.  I need the safety of a backspace key to really get my point across.  

So what's the point of this particular piece?  I'm not quite sure.  But I know I don't like writing open-endedly. So I need to figure it out before I'm finished.

I write better when it's gloomy outside.  When the sun is hidden away and I don't feel guilty for not basking in it. The clouds let sadness and feelings seep out.  Maybe it's because they are basically the same. All liquid and permeating. The sun dries them up and brings happiness.  Removes my desire to bathe in the liquid.  Allows me to once again smile. I started this piece on a dismal day.  I plan to finish it today when the sun shines through my window.

I used to leave the house every day to work as a cafeteria aide at my son's school.  It was hard.  I loved the children and loved being able to see them smile or learn something new.  I would tell them my thoughts on last night's game or tell them I loved hearing about their stint as Student of the Month.  It was fulfilling.  But it was hard.

Staying home means I have more time to theoretically put pen to paper, and I do.  I work all the time.  I don't really have a minute that my brain isn't trying to figure out what next to submit.  But it also means I have more time to figure myself out.  That's good.  It's also bad.

So now I sit here at my keyboard waiting and waiting for the moment to come when this piece can wrap up into a nice happy bow.  What's the point? Why write at all?  This piece was started in March of this year.  I've revisited it several times and added a bit here and there.  It is now mid-November and I just now have figured out that point.  

Well...here it is:

I'm writing it to get it all out.  To take the trapped mess of steam that builds up and release it out into the air so it can evaporate. I feel better when I tap tap tap out letters and words even if they don't make sense at the time.  I do it to feel relevant to myself. I know by reading my writing that I have DONE something with myself. Everyone can tell me the same thing, but I only truly believe it if I can see myself for myself. I do it to feel creative in a world that sometimes feels stuffy and political and pale.  I like to add color and spice.  I like to sit and listen to music that inspires me and write about any and everything that comes to mind.  I like it.  That's why I do it.  

 I'm sharing another twenty one pilots song here - Holding On To You - because it's the soundtrack to my brain lately.  It's about hope, as most of their songs tend to be, but it can be listened to when you're both happy or sad.  From both sides.  I sometimes feel weak and will hold onto someone's arm for support.  Other times I may be strong, holding onto someone else's arm to keep them from falling.  This song represents that for me.  And it represents this post pretty well, too.