Did you ever wake up with that certain, “Oh shit, my life’s half over and I’m not done yet,” kinda feeling? Not buying a new jag or mustang, can’t pick up a young blonde…well, I suppose I could dye my head blonde again. No. No male midlife crisis here. First off, I’m not a guy. Second, it’s too bloody expensive to go the traditional route. Could go nuts and yell “fire” in a crowded movie house, or hell, just “fire” in my backyard.
But that’s not my preferred route to “Get me a life, quick!” I’m just tired of watching dreams dissolve in the fizzy water of my life. Do I have a sweet hubby? Yes. Do I love my sweet little one? Yes!
But there’s someone else living here I kinda forgot. Yeah her. That one. The one who wants to swat the moths outta my pantry and inhale half a jar of almond butter, organic or no…just about now! That one!
I’m starting a journey here on the page. Wanna come along? You’re invited..and your damn comments too.
Cause we all know I’m not the only one who wants to talk, shout, sing, laugh, and make mayhem. Right? Ok, you’re in! Let’s go…
Feb 2: 1:10 AM – My first “Official Post” Champagne, toasts, cheers from the crowd. Ok, here it is:
What am I doing? Here I am running around running everyone else’s life, talking about manifesting your dream, making a life not a living, that we are all a thread in the great big fuzzy blanket of energy that runs the universe and all we have to do is give it a run and there we go for the greatest ride down the pantyhose of life in the direction of our bliss…there I am speaking, waving my arms wildly, gesticulating with the precision of a Swiss watch nobody looks at any more, because, well just look at the damn cell phone, already if you want to know what time it is.
I know what time it is. It’s not just the wee hours of he morning, having me pound away for nothing on my wireless keyboard, while I absorb untold numbers of EMFs! It’s time to sing. Yes, yes, that’s what time it is!
So why this vocal emergency….why emerge just now?
Ok, so it’s yesterday. I’m feeling good, I got my thing going on, and go to my Kinesiologist to get an AK…not “AK40” but Applied Kinesiology…Yes, I know “Watch your language!” So stay with me: He says, “You’re angry…it’s your career.” And I thought, “Huh? I just wanted to know if I was D3 deficient and how much longer I had to cease and resist the wheat!” And I said, “What do you mean?” And he says, “18 or 19 years old.” And I say…nothing. I remember in that instant what happened. I didn’t get into the acting program at B.U. I got into the opera program instead. And though I was 1 of the 10 people they accepted out of hundreds of applicants for what was then (Oh! Ancient history, deary!) one of the top 10 music schools in the country, I thought they made a boo boo on me. By the end of the year, I’d quit the program and went into literature…a nice silent, quiet, reading sort of degree.
So, Byrnes, that’s the doctor’s name, George Byrnes…..no joke, has me lay around with my hand twisted over my head in a very awkward, uncomfortable, sort of pretzel-ish sort of pose. It would be enough to make any self-respecting diva cry, just to pose like that…but that didn’t do it to me. It was thinking back to that moment. 18 or 19. Feeling flopsville. And I lay there testing out the waterproofedness of my mascara until he comes back, does something which seems inconsequential to my head, unties my aching arms from themselves, and when I ask him, “Well, Dr. Byrnes, what do I do about it?” He says, “We just did.”
Ok, so even though he’s the most brilliantly amazing chiropractor/kinesiologist ( I know, what the hell is a kinesiologist, anyway? More on that some other time, I’m afraid.) on the planet, I’m thinking. “That’s where you’re wrong Byrnsie.” See, we’re not done. I’m not done.
And so I’m not done. I’m just getting started…again! I’m going to open my mouth, and watch out!
Got a dream caught in your throat? Get it out. Do it now! Cough it. Vomit it. Just do it!