It's always a good idea to name a blog post after a Kenny Chesney song. Especially while listening to One Direction. Just when you think you know me, I become an unpredictable possum. I don't know why the fuck I just compared myself to a possum.
I haven't written a blahg post in five months. Correction: I haven't posted a blahg post in five months. My writing has seen better days and I haven't really been a fan of what I've been creating on the screen in front of me. I've also been in a bit of a funk lately and haven't really been in the mood to share. Plus, I've also been sick for two weeks and counting, so there's that.
The problem here, is that I'm a share-er. An overshare-er if you will. From sexual encounters to my IUD to my bowel movements *live from the toilet*, I'm not too hush hush about much. But when I am feeling down or negative or just simply/complicatedly off, I disappear. Maybe not completely, but I slowly and surely try to ease my way off (and back on to) the grid.
Now, by being a "blogger" and a performer/entertainer of sorts, I'm required to share. I literally HAVE to share. I get my kicks off by making others laugh. By making them feel something. By making them see that I am you and you are me and we're all in this together. None of us are alone (even if we sometimes (or lots of times) feel like it).
When I go off the grid and detach myself from social media and keep my distance from the online world, it's usually temporary. Sometimes that means a few days, sometimes it means several months. But writing is never something I should run away from.
It's my release, my reflection, my constant and my connection. I pride myself on being an open book and open to the interpretation of others. I am confident and strong and think I'm pretty fucking amazing and good at what I can do.
But while I know all of this, I don't always feel that way. I have more than just moments of weakness, self-doubt and fear. I struggle with self-love and acceptance and forgiveness. Being open and honest and unfiltered is the only way I know how to be, but that in turn leaves so much room for vulnerability. It's a scary thing. It's rough. It's rough and it's beautiful and it's a struggle and it's a journey. This being a human stuff ain't for the birds, amiright?!
And I'm alive, and well...I'm getting there. I think I'll always be getting there in some way or another. And right now I'm getting back to my spiked apple cider and painting my nails a medley of funky red/green/white madness at 3 o'clock in the morning. It's a rather unfortunate time to need to scratch my butt.
Needless to say, I'm a bit nervous about posting and sharing and getting totally back on this grid. I'm nervous about fully declaring myself as a writer and living up to the expectations and potential of what that means. At the end of the day, it's up to me on whether or not I press 'publish' and well, we obviously know what choice I made today.
Over and out.
P.S. This pic of muh face + Delilah (la guitarra) is brought to you by my talented and beautiful friend/creative soul sister, Mercedes. She also let me borrow her laptop for the night to pour my word jizz out to you since mine is in the shitter and for that I am forever grateful. LOVE TO ALL.
