Burning Alive

S     E     E     B     E     L     O     W     S     E     E     B     E     L     O     W

              What am I about?  I don’t know.  To be honest, there was a time in my teens when I believed I knew myself and the kind of adult I would be.  However in my twenties the dogma of me was quickly executed, Russian-style.  Russians are incredibly exact in their styles.  Americans go through such lengths like hangings, electrocutions and poison.  Russians merely shoot the criminal in the head and wipe their hands clean.  I’m sure the cleaning staff is none too pleased but I suppose it would be better than cleaning off the fried bits from an electric chair.  But I digress.  I was disillusioned yet I clung to the fragile pieces of my naivety and innocence because I honestly believed it would protect me.  It was about the only thing I was right about.

            So what do people do when life throws bullets at their heads?  Well, I decided to write a blog.  I’ve written since I was little, comparing my quirk to habitually drinking coffee or collecting stamps.  I didn’t take it seriously thus I never bore the aspiration of being a writer.  I was more interested in being a literary figure.  A character is more interesting then the puppet master, musing about their beliefs and blah blah blah.  A character does, the writer just puts it on paper.  So I ignored my secret yearnings and continued to scribble.  However one cannot deny their purpose forever.  It becomes a cyst throbbing inside.  I toyed with the idea but I could not commit.  The flaw in my “child of the Gods” mentality is that I am afraid to commit.  I don’t necessarily want to be brought down to earth among the mundane.  It’s bad enough I answered phones for a living but to compromise my ramblings for editors, publishers and an unlikely audience was too much!  I idealized Emily Dickens, a poetess undiscovered until her poems were unearthed from a chest after her death.  Perhaps I too would be uncovered like a treasure.  Fantasy is always better than the grainy dishwater of reality.

            Little did I know I would discover myself through, of all places, Myspace.  First of all, I hate teenagers.  They’re loud, arrogant and obnoxious.  I’m well aware of my former status as a teenager which is exactly why they annoy me.  Some people don’t like dogs or children, my sore spot are teenagers.  So when my ex pressured me into checking it out, I was even more put off by the constant slew of drunken photos of teens and twenty-somethings looking for a fuck or a “freidn to hand out”.  The misspellings and grammatical errors howled into my head!  Why would I associate myself with this shit?  Who could I possibly have in common with?  Unfortunately another flaw is the “Cosmo Girl” mentality.  I looked up this guy I was insanely in love with and instantly felt compelled to create a profile.  I never contacted him, I just wanted to be in the same space in case we “bumped into each other”?  Yeah, it doesn’t make sense.  However the blog section appealed to me and I was hooked.  No one saw them and when I received comments it was usually a plea to buy ringtones or porn.  But I found an outlet to voice all the bullshit.  Its one thing to write but another to put it in a public place, to take a stand and face the consequences of some complete stranger eyeing my words.

            I eventually got over the guy, especially when I began to feel that I was becoming a secret stalker.  He eventually removed his profile which was probably for the best.  And I moved on too.  Through the “gentle” pressing of a friend, I searched out WordPress.com, a more legitimate forum for blogging and a greater outlet of release.  Through this blog, I look for myself.  As vague as that appears, my focus lately has been feminism and God.  Unintentionally stepping into a spiritual journey, my search for God as a woman has led me into another search as a woman in a man’s world.  Some of my thoughts are admittedly hateful and general yet all the garbage must be expressed in order to find a balance.  A lot of my frustrations come from being a single mother as well and having to fight the stigma of being “alone”.  The focus may change as I move to Iowa from the big city of Seattle and try to make it as a writer with a hungry mouth to feed.  But I truly believe I have something to say and with a trace of megalomania, I believe it is important.  Who was it that said the story of one man is the journey of all?