I have such a feeling of impending doom lately. Can't shake it. It feels horrifying and nothing is helping, nothing. Tis the season to be happy and hopeful and I am feeling that the phone will ring any minute with some bad news or that something will happen to validate this feeling.
Today, I had my second meltdown in public. Something I am not known for, even to myself. Last week, I ran into a friend, one who I hadn't seen in a long time and she said something to me that caught me off my emotional guard and I burst into tears, right there in the chiropractor's office. Today, it was in the presence of two almost perfect strangers. I came home and told my husband that all I want for Christmas is a box of tissues and I was serious.
Something's in the air, at least my air.
My writing group met this morning. The prompt was the word "I". Not having had much time in between the sobs and the public displays of insanity, I hadn't written anything new. I dug up something I had written almost two years ago and found it applicable. It was a piece I wrote for another workshop, one that was online, thank God, called "Telling True Stories". I wrote several wonderful pieces during that time and I know that had my virtual classmates not been somewhat anonymous, I would never have accomplished all that I did. I find it difficult to write my innermost thoughts in places that will be seen by people who do and people who do not know me intimately, but for different reasons. I've heard that memoir writers oftentimes have difficulty telling true versions of their stories for fear of hurting the central, real-life characters. They say that it takes a bit of bravismo to accomplish the telling of such moments in their lives. I haven't ventured out that far yet but hope, always, that one day my stories will be in the hands of my family and they will all make some kind of sense and my children and grandchildren will know all they need to about me.
So, I'm not going to post the story that I read to my lovely group of writer friends this morning. It is on this blog, in the archives and appears here: http://ioparlato.blogspot.com/2013/01/what-if-i-tell-you-that-i-very-recently.html. I made minor adjustments to it, changing the time references to make it more relevant.
Instead, I'm going to jot down something about myself, answering the prompt in a way that makes me happy because that's what I really need. Happy.
I do not like to wear shoes
But I do not like bare feet
I do not like to wear socks with shoes but
I hate cold feet
I love flip flops and Birkenstocks
On very cold days, I just don't go outside.
Today, I had my second meltdown in public. Something I am not known for, even to myself. Last week, I ran into a friend, one who I hadn't seen in a long time and she said something to me that caught me off my emotional guard and I burst into tears, right there in the chiropractor's office. Today, it was in the presence of two almost perfect strangers. I came home and told my husband that all I want for Christmas is a box of tissues and I was serious.
Something's in the air, at least my air.
My writing group met this morning. The prompt was the word "I". Not having had much time in between the sobs and the public displays of insanity, I hadn't written anything new. I dug up something I had written almost two years ago and found it applicable. It was a piece I wrote for another workshop, one that was online, thank God, called "Telling True Stories". I wrote several wonderful pieces during that time and I know that had my virtual classmates not been somewhat anonymous, I would never have accomplished all that I did. I find it difficult to write my innermost thoughts in places that will be seen by people who do and people who do not know me intimately, but for different reasons. I've heard that memoir writers oftentimes have difficulty telling true versions of their stories for fear of hurting the central, real-life characters. They say that it takes a bit of bravismo to accomplish the telling of such moments in their lives. I haven't ventured out that far yet but hope, always, that one day my stories will be in the hands of my family and they will all make some kind of sense and my children and grandchildren will know all they need to about me.
So, I'm not going to post the story that I read to my lovely group of writer friends this morning. It is on this blog, in the archives and appears here: http://ioparlato.blogspot.com/2013/01/what-if-i-tell-you-that-i-very-recently.html. I made minor adjustments to it, changing the time references to make it more relevant.
Instead, I'm going to jot down something about myself, answering the prompt in a way that makes me happy because that's what I really need. Happy.
I do not like to wear shoes
But I do not like bare feet
I do not like to wear socks with shoes but
I hate cold feet
I love flip flops and Birkenstocks
On very cold days, I just don't go outside.
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