I literally just typed three different starting sentences to this posting, and deleted them all. Flat out. Finger finds the ‘Delete’ button and holds on for dear life.
It’s Monday. What else do you want from me? Seriously, I cannot tell you how much my fingers do not want to type right now. They’re been typing all day long. Strange to hear me complain about typing when I’m a writer. A self-proclaimed writer, and how else does one write these days for fear of their house burning down and taking everything with it?
However, there’s nothing like opening a brand new notebook and staring that pristine white paper. Lines crisp and blue. So blue you find yourself staring at the veins in your arm and you realize the blue colors match. The veins might be a touch bluer. The lines so close together you wonder how your handwriting could possibly fit between those itty-bitty lines.
Then, you put your pen tip to the page, and you just start writing.
It could be gibberish. It could be brilliance. You just keep writing.You write because you have to. My fingers start to hurt when I haven’t written for a good stretch of time. Seriously. It sounds a bit psychotic, but its true. It’s like a doctor who hasn’t operated in several weeks. They just need that scalpel in their hand and they need to cut, cut, cut.
That could be the Christina Yang coming out in me. My sister exclaimed the other day while sitting at her laptop. Netflix let her know Season 8 of grey’s Anatomy is now available on Netflix. There goes the next so many hours of my evening in the upcoming weeks. I haven’t watched that show in what feels like forever. Yet, I somehow remember what’s going on.
“Beautiful women seldom want to act. They are afraid of emotion and they do not try to extract anything from a character that they are portraying, because in expressing emotion they may encourage crow’s feet and laughing wrinkles. They avoid anything that will disturb their placidity of countenance, for placidity of countenance insures a smooth skin.”
Those are quite the stinging words of Laurette Taylor, tops in early twentieth-century theater. However, I have shed my fair share of tears in the past 24 hours, and it was without fear of how “ugly” I look. Emotion speaks volumes, and it’s a terrifying thing, to feel something beyond our control. I had to ask the question the other day, “Why do we cry when we’re sad?” I dont’ have the slightest clue, but I sometimes wish we expressed sadness in other ways.
It stings, yes, but how very true her words are. I can thin of one solid example of why this is ludicrous, and yet oh so true. Charlize Theron was heavily hailed as a true contender for her portrayal of Aileen Wornos in the film “Monster,” and she later would win at that year’s Oscars int he category of Best Leading Actress. Not only was she hailed as glorious for her acting abilities, but she was also praised for her ability and fearlessness when it came to her appearance. She was able to “ugly up” for her part, and really “lose herself in the role.”
The main thing they did to her, make-up wise? Shaved off her eyebrows. Daring, yes. Daring enough for a seasoned actress and worth all the critical acclaim based on her appearance alone? I don’t think so. Let the work speak. Not the eyebrows. I’m sure there are plenty of teenage girls out there who thought they had an easier solution to taming their eyebrows by using a razor versus a tweezers or wax strip.
Getting rid of your eyebrows is not a new phenomenon. Teenage girls have been doing it since the beginning of time as they try to master the art of Tweezing.
I spent way too much time this past weekend crying my eyes out. I will never understand how certain people don’t blink an eye at the generosity that has been bestowed upon them. They didn’t ask, but kindness was spread to them because it was clear they needed it. It was clear help from outside hands were needed, and so what do people with great, great hearts do? They open their arms, their minds, and more importantly their hearts to you. They give everything you could possibly need because it was written across your forehead: “I need help, but don’t know how to ask for it because I have found myself in a giant hole with not a shovel to dig my way out.”
After all this kindness, what happens? Childish behavior is what happens. “I’m going to act like a 13-year-old girl because I have nothing better to do with myself.” You have no money, so you mooch off the one providing a living for you (and then complain to your family you are being controlled and manipulated…yet you openly refuse to get a job.) You have a child, but refuse to act like a mother. Instead, you push your son off on everyone else you actually does care for him because, well, you know we can’t say no. Because we care about the welfare of that little boy more than you ever will.
Your priorities? Staying out until 5 in the morning after staying out at a bar until 2 am, or you head out to a dance club near a military base where a large handful of men away on leave are not so subtle in what they’re looking for on weekend evening. What the hell is going through your mind? You have a son at home. Don’t you want to be home with him? Apparently not. You’d rather get drunk, and then sleep until noon when your son needs you up to feed and change him. To take care of him.
All things a mother shouldn’t have to think twice about. It’s no longer about you, you, you. You have someone depending on you. Don’t screw it up or you will have this Jedi to deal with.
I have dealt my hand. You hurt that little boy, I will not stand for it. Get your act together. You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re an adult with real adult issues. Stop acting like the world owes you everything when you barely lift a finger to help the world, let alone those who have given you a place to stay, food to eat, and a car to drive.
Yet, you shit all over everyone. If reincarnation is indeed real, I hope you come back as a leech. It’s what you are now, so it really wouldn’t be much of a change for you. Latch on, suck them dry, and move on to the next. Encounter something you don’t like? Bite and bite again. Because hurting someone is always the answer. It definitely makes it easier to forgive you later down the line.
I have no respect for certain people anymore, and I honestly fear for them if we are ever left alone in a room together. When my mouth starts going, and I am fueled by this burning desire to smack you upside the head in the hopes it will straighten things out up in your noggin, I’m not that fun to be around. In fact, I am downright frightening.
Don’t cross me. The more I cry, the harder I hit.
Especially when family is on the line.