I read a book several years ago with the subtitle: A Journey through Madness to Meaning. This blog feels a little like that lately, only I'm stuck in the madness bit, and I am growing impatient. I'm embarrassed to have made my stumbling, fumbling journey so public -- is it possible to be too transparent? -- but it seems a little late to hold back now, so . . .
I've had a really wretched 72 hours. I feel naked, exposed and humiliated. I would like to run away from everyone who has seen my vulnerability or, better yet, turn back time and try to keep all my clothes on -- buttoned right up to my chinny chin chin and topped with a thick overcoat. Finding both of those options cruelly unavailable, I turned to food -- Big Cheese-Its, pasta, Mexican TV dinners, nachos with guacamole, Haagen-Dazs ice cream, raisin toast with fig spread, tres-leche cake, all washed down with excellent coffee and Diet Coke -- and British television ("Larkrise to Candleford" is a great series. I should know. I watched six episodes in one day).
I am a bow in the hands of a skilled archer, but it feels as though the bow string snapped a couple days ago, leaving behind a useless piece of wood. Only this archer is intimately acquainted with the weakness of his instrument, and he promises not to exert more pressure than I can bear.
Today I will focus on trusting the archer.
Really good writers are transparent and vulnerable. You're a really good writer, Barb. Thank you for sharing your journey. I consider it a wonderful gift.
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