All Out of Outrage
I’ve been talking to myself the past few weeks. (It’s a habit I picked up from my college roomie, Dana)
I said, “Self, you need to be working on your blog.”
And my Self said, “Yeah, and you need to be working on your novel. What blog ideas do you have anyway? That crazy idea about the Uterus Dialogue? No one’s going to want to read that.”
“Oh, come on! Over half of the people in the United States have a uterus. It would be pertinent.”
“Mmm-hmm. You keep telling yourself that.”
But I finally went over to my poor neglected blog only to discover my last few posts were about sad things. No wonder I’d abandoned my blog and forgotten the password. I don’t want to write about sad things. That’s part of the reason I write the stories I do. I believe in happy endings. I have to. If I didn’t believe in happy endings, that right will always win in the end, that there’s a place beyond this flawed earth where there are no more tears, then I would surely go insane.
So then my Self, who is a heifer I might add, says, “Exactly what do you think you have to say that anyone’s going to want to read?”
And I said, “I think I’ll put this crazy conversation down for one. At the very least they might send me to the place with the padded rooms where I can do lots of brainstorming and hopefully figure out the snag on this novel.”
“No, no. I’m saying what are you going to tell people about writing? You aren’t published. You gonna talk about motherhood or domestic stuff because you should take a look around followed by some second thoughts if that’s your plan. Fitness? Did you see how much weight you gained back last week? What do you have to offer this world?”
And I said, “I don’t know. Maybe all I’ve got is a blog and a Twitter account where other people can see that you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to keep going. Because I can keep going. I’m stubborn enough to still be having these arguments with you.”
And so I wrote this blog post today because I’m all out of outrage. (And now I have that damned Air Supply song stuck in my head, too….I’m all out of love, so lost without you….Ha! Suffer with me.) If you decide to send the nice young men in the clean white coats, please tell them no straight jackets. I’ll go along peaceably. And I can’t hold my Kindle if I don’t have at least one hand free.