Exit stage left

We have talked about so much the last couple of days (quite the miracle – the telephone – weeks of chat in just a few hours, imagine!).  You keep going into the Room of Very Bad Things and pulling out boxes at which I do not want to look.

Today what hurt the most was theatre. I know I often mention music or singing. (You’re very probably sick of hearing about it.) I’m sure you know how important those things are to me. I’m pretty sure you don’t know why. I’m hoping I can explain this well enough to help you understand.

You have significant difficulty with me not hearing compliments; Not believing the qualities that you see in me. I’m certain you have noticed that I don’t rebuff compliments about my voice. It is the one thing of which I have always been sure. As a child, singing  at the front of the room in choir would silence the bullies for a few brief minutes. It is the only part of me that has never been degraded, shamed, or stolen from me.

When I perform, I am not afraid of being judged and found lacking. It doesn’t happen. It is the one part of my life that has been consistently good for me. So today when you asked me about performing, it brought back the day a couple of years back, when I looked at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf full of sheet music and decided that it was too painful to look at anymore. I packed it up and put it in storage. It felt like I was discarding a piece of my spirit that I would never get back.

I stopped performing because the constant arguments about rehearsal schedules, performing and baby sitters were damaging my marriage. Walking the boards was the one part of myself that I had managed to maintain after I had LM. It was life affirming for me. Though I couldn’t stay after rehearsal to play with the cast, I still got to be around adults and have some semblance of a life.

I could not have performing and marriage, in the same way I could not have motherhood and submission. I made the same choice. I chose my family over myself. It was the right thing to do but it also took away the last thing I did for myself that made me happy.

You asked me if I will go back. I told you how I feel. What I didn’t say is that I’m not sure if I can. This brain damage leaves holes in my memory, as you have seen, especially under stress, fatigue, or heightened emotion. You have been involved in productions. You understand the stress and exhaustion that overtakes the cast during production week. I don’t know if my memory can withstand it. I try not to think about walking on stage and suddenly having holes in the music, holes in the story, holes in the choreography. I don’t know if I can handle having this one area of my life where I exude confidence destroyed in that way. If I do go back, I believe I would have to take a background role simply to see if I am able. If.

No, thank you

Things I do not want:

  • To be a furry
  • To top anyone
  • To be mocked
  • To experience intense pain
  • To crawl
  • To beg
  • To be denied privacy
  • To be embarrassed
  • To disappoint you
  • To be work
  • To be made to cry
  • To feel abused
  • To live without music
  • To try new foods
  • To feel shame
  • To be humiliated

As I have said previously, what I do or do not want has very little to do with what I will or will not do for you, for no other reason than it pleases you. You seemed to want to be told what I do not want. Now you have. I do not expect it will alter the course of our play.

Word of the Week Wednesday

autochthonous (ȯ-ˈtäk-thə-nəs):
1: indigenous, native <an autochthonous people>
2: formed or originating in the place where found <autochthonous rock> <an autochthonous infection>
au·toch·tho·nous·ly adverb

Examples of AUTOCHTHONOUS

  1. <an illegally introduced Asian fish that has virtually wiped out the lake’s autochthonous species>

Related to AUTOCHTHONOUS

This week’s WotWW brought to you by: http://www.merriam-webster.com

On my knees

kneelingMy process of journaling for you generally begins when we say good-bye at our cut off time. If I have not already chosen one, I ponder potential topics and begin mentally composing my entry for the evening.

Tonight was no different. I had tonight’s piece about half written. I sat at my desk and logged into chat with the intent of watching the room roll by while I wrote and there you were. You summoned me elsewhere. I got so wrapped up in conversation there that I lost not only what I had mentally written but the topic as well. There is no retrieving it. It went to my Hall of Lost Memories.

My internal editor isn’t doing her job. I don’t know what to do about it. I would fire her but that seems counterproductive. She seems to think that, when I’m with you, her services are not required. I’m not sure I agree. I try to do her job when she doesn’t but I’m not catching as much as I should. I hear things leaving my mouth and know I should stop them. I look at my editor and she shrugs, busily filing her nails, not even looking at me, as if to say Oh who cares? You’re going to tell Him everything eventually anyway. Let’s do it now. It’s more efficient. Don’t you think? It’s a tiny bit scary.

Something came out of my mouth (fingers? It was typed after all ..) tonight that I was surprised by. The moderator said: “They can’t be on their knees all the time.” I immediately thought “I am nearly always on my knees with Him.” and I said something like “being on one’s knees is an attitude.”

Like so many things I experience with you, I didn’t know I felt this way until it was out of my mouth. I love that! You make me think, and think hard, just by being in my life. It’s fantastic! (I digress.) I feel this way with you; that I am at your feet when we converse. It was not … is not always this way but it becomes more pronounced and more frequent each day, today especially. The physicality of being at your feet would underscore it, of course, but I am often there mentally.

I am at your feet when you are explaining a point. I am there when you tell me to hush. I am there when I feel your frustration with me. Perhaps most intriguing, I’m there when I’m trying so very hard to debate a point of discussion, to get you to hear me. I love that you allow me to be heard. That you value my voice. I don’t know why this makes me feel more submissive to you but it does, without question.

As frustrated as I get with the flow, more accurately the lack of flow in our conversations, I genuinely enjoy that you take them where you want. I am simultaneously frustrated/amused/irritated that you vacillate between fervently wanting my every word and casually dismissing me when I get too long winded. There is a feeling of “girl, I value your opinion but don’t get carried away. I’m still in charge here. Never forget it.” I adore this. I want more.

I keep waiting to be satiated. I keep waiting to feel like I don’t need you every second of every day. I keep waiting for the shiny newness to dull a bit. I keep waiting for you to need a break from me. I keep waiting for the sharpness of what I feel for you to wear off. I keep waiting for the time when logging out/ hanging up does not feel as though I’m hacking off a limb. I keep waiting but I’m pretty sure it’s never going to happen. That suits me just fine.