I want to be David Bowie. Seriously, who doesn’t? The man is from another planet, another world, across the universe and turn left at the old oak tree. He holds the universe in his head. He can see the past, present and future as he creates it.
I imagine he has his own gravitational pull. It’s enormous, and as he passes you on the street you feel the fluctuation in the Earth’s gravity as the planets and stars and moons in his universe orbit and collide and die and are born. Sidewalks buckle under the weight of his universe, oceans part. Glass bends and time is relative and rippling. No wonder he doesn’t like to fly.
What must it be like to have this vast cosmos ever circling and changing inside his head. What is it like to know the future and to move the past. As an avid fan and listener and believer and worshiper for the past twenty years or so; I feel as though he has been telling us all along.
For me, it started with The Labyrinth. I was only two when it came out, but I remember watching it young and throughout my preteen years I was obsessed with Jareth – and who the hell was this Sarah idiot to deny the Goblin King? Are you kidding me? Who saves a baby over a chance at eternity with the incomparable Mr B?
Then I became Ziggy Stardust.
No I really was Zig.
Just like anyone else who has ever taken in that album as I did – we have all been Zig. An alien rock n’ roller here to change the world but can’t take the pressure of it, we can’t bear the pain of the whole wide world but we have to carry on. For years I was wearing chandelier earrings to high school and college classes on the daily. Daydreaming about rock n’ roll suicide and wanting the palm tree platforms so badly I was ready to carve them myself. I didn’t – but still – someday…
As I have faced the inevitability of aging, maturing (I really kind of hate that word), learning and expanding my mind (cosmically and existentially – not chemically) – I have grown to love the many different Bowies. I have always loved his big hits from his crazy discography. I embraced the 60s pop hits of Davy Jones, the shark suited hits of the 80s and sh*t, I am still f*cking afraid of Americans; but I could never love anything as much as the 70s albums (of which there are eleven).
Now I get it – I just wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t ready to let Mr B open my mind and show me the future. He has been telling us all what it is all about for decades now. We just haven’t been ready to listen. We each carry his crazy universe of black holes violently tearing apart and consuming anything and everything around them, of stars being born and exploding with nuclear energy and planets and moons and matter and anti-matter.
I want to be David Bowie dammit.
Today…sh-t got real. I was guilted into changing some of the plans I had for my birthday and I was immediately unhappy about said guilt-driven-changes. I was so pissed off, at my family, at myself. After a few hours of wallowing in self-misery I decided to alter my plans back. I don’t want to dread my 30th. I don’t want to worry about anyone saying something to hurt me, or anyone being in a crabby mood and taking it out on me.
That already happened all day today.
We had planned a nice relaxing Mom’s Day for everyone, and it all turned to sh-t. First thing in the morning I was attacked for selling a few cheap frames at the garage sale that apparently were über-important (even though I have never once heard of their apparent irreplaceable appeal). From there a lot of tension clouded the day. We had a delicious brunch at PJ’s Lager House in Corktown and headed to Ikea for some afternoon shopping, but the day was tainted.
I am so tired of talking about the same old sh-t; so for the first time – today I decided what was going to be best for me and said no to anything less. It is liberating and guilt-inducing at the same time. But I guess I am ok with that. I don’t want to lose the instinct to say yes all the time, and to want to please other people. I just want to say no more often when saying yes causes so much unhappiness and stress.
I also cannot wait to turn 30 all of the sudden…it’s weird and I cannot explain it but I feel like it has to be better then this sh-t.
I would also like to add that I am not such a self-absorbed person as I surely come off on this blog. It’s terrifying how opening up and trying to journal via blogging has made me feel/sound so whiney. I typically don’t even tell my love what I am really thinking and feeling on a daily basis. I certainly never tell friends or family – hence the trust issues. This is all a part of the journey I suppose; but please believe when I say that I can’t stand listening to myself whine all over the place either.
Third and final day of the let’s-get-the-f-ck-out-sale and we hit pay dirt. The last of our big items sold, we tallied up our total to almost $700 over the three days and I led my first section of a yin yoga class today for over 20 minutes while being recorded. It was the first day of feeling super sh-t about myself in a while, and the first time that I have gone back on a promise I have made myself since all this crazy started forty four days ago. I had promised quite recently that i would take people at their word, not question motives or honesty, and not care either way. But today, I felt ok with my performance in my yoga training, I managed to pull off coming up with an entirely different flow because I had no wall space to work with, I received great feedback that was both highly positive and constructive criticisms. However, somehow within an hour and a half of leaving yoga, driving home, changing and getting to the sale to help out – I had convinces my self that I suck so bad at yoga that everyone was just trying to be nice, I am a failure in all things, especially yoga, my in-laws hate me, and I am the fat, ugly daughter-in-law that they wish they never had. I hate this spiral of horrible thoughts that I think are absolute truths. It’s hard and frustrating to stop, it’s even harder to reverse and repair the damage.
Today was the first day I have felt like such a failure – I promised myself something and I couldn’t hold it up – and that f-cking sucks.
So today I compiled a list of my greatest fears. I don’t like spiders, speaking in public or touching gross bumpy things. None of these are on the list. Admittedly the list is a work in progress – but seeing some of my darkest fears typed out in front of me is a bit harrowing.
Seeing how irrational some of them are is a bit hilarious.
Reading them makes me want to conquer them. Conquer is a bit of a ridiculous word in this situation – but I don’t want to “work through them” – that just sounds laborious. Conquer feels fast, strong, fun. Game of Thrones style – I’m going to direwolf this shit.
This week has been a rough one – too much time to think – not enough time to do anything about it.
This was a crazy weekend. I feel like so many of my weeks blur together and I’m not really sure what day it is. Today felt like a Sunday – and it was. It was a beautiful day here. Sunny, slightly breezy, a bit of cloud cover to keep the temperature moderate and a first taste of that famous humidity that plagues so many summer days in Michigan. For maybe a week or more I have been picturing very clearly a future home for my husband and I. Just a very specific section of a living room. I don’t know if it’s in Portland or Paris or London or Tokyo or even somewhere in the Maldives. I just know that it feels like home. I am happy and comfortable picturing it and I want to be there.
This is the first time in my memorable past (aka maybe ten-fifteen years) that I have so vividly pictured a future for myself that it feels like I am there. Like it is tactile, already my reality and I have lived it. There’s a fuzzy feeling of contentment that feels right. Maybe it was just a dream that I am remembering. Maybe my subconscious is sapping this vision from a movie or show or an immersive description in a book. But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels original, and all my own. It feels so good to be able to claim a vision of my future life. It just feels great to want a future at all.
Suicide has such an awful stigma attached to it. Unfortunately that stigma makes it hard for me to even write that I have contemplated suicide as much as I have these past few years. The first reaction of some family and friends (the grand total is eight btw) that I have spoken to is anger. A “how dare you” attitude that only compounds how shitty and nervous I feel about talking to anyone (let alone a friend who claims to love me) about these thoughts and feelings. Another reaction is disbelief – “really? you? you always have it together though. you’re so strong.” Like this is something I would lie about. If you know me enough to think me strong and together – then know me enough to believe what I am saying to you right now. One of the hardest parts when telling family and friends is you can practically feel the crazy brand being burned into your forehead. Never again do they seem to ask “how are you?” and really mean it. The questions are always direct; “how is your mom doing? how is your husband? how is your work going?” A truly, deep-down heartfelt “how are you?” seems to be off the menu. You know what I mean right? Someone asks you something they might know the answer to but they just really want you to honestly talk to them – and whatever you say they will hear it and love you the same at the end of your answer as they did eight months ago before you branded your forehead with i’m a f#%&ing crazy mess.
I am a f#%&ing crazy mess – a fistful of it. But I also have a really clear picture of a home I want to create and exist in. I want that future and that is a really f#%&ing great first for today.