Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for May, 2011

I was reading the most recent chapter of the book I’m helping my friend to edit. One of the sections came to an end and I was hit hard by it, as this chapter is continually doing to me.  So I let out a little whimper, a little mewling kitten sound.  It made me sick.

Now, the thing about this sound, it precisely reminds me of my mom.  It’s the kind of sound that someone who is struck by something in a self-pitying way, but doesn’t even have enough decency to let out the full yelp of it will make. It’s even a little contrived. Simply a dispicable worthless expression of weakness wrapped in miles of complex defenses and a disingenuous grasping, utterly lacking self-confidence.  It’s precisely the attribute I hate most about myself.  I catch it sometimes in a gesture, a sound, a few words, a posture, something I spoke.

Mom doesn’t know how to be herself. She tries so hard, but I’m quite certain she hasn’t a clue who she is. Sometimes she gets an inkling of an idea and holds to it like grim death, goes on a religious kick for awhile, takes up smoking out of rebellion, drops smoking in a fit of self-realization, dresses differently, talks with a thick Southern accent, buys a gun, does her hair differently….  any number of things that seem like such a horrifying veneer of tension and falsehood slapdashed over a personality that is desperately avoiding the fact of its own weakness.

Now, for me to hate this aspect of my mom so much, and mistrust her so deeply for it, mustn’t it also be the very thing I hate most about myself?

So….  for once.  For fucking ONCE in my life, I was just fine with it. I didn’t despise it in myself at all. In fact, even as I write this and feel the tendrils of contrivance born of some weak spirit creeping into my writing, I just let it be.  What else can I do?

What does it even matter if the salty food kills me and I have a heart attack?  What is the furthest possible reach, the bottom of the well of my own weakness and why am I so damned terrified of it?  I can only die, and I’m going to do that shortly anyways (relatively speaking?  What’s fifty years or ten or three?)…

And just last night the question, “who am I?”  Had finally been reinvigorated from mere technique to the blistering yearning need to answer it above everything else…  So..  Something is obviously changing.  You cannot stay dead forever!

Read Full Post »