juliejordanscott
OH MY. PURPOSE. My keyboard froze and then went silent. Purpose. A Means, A way. A mission. A context. A container.
It was on a whim that I decided to go. I really wanted a quiet evening in, but I was glad she decided to invite me. I have meant to see her, hang out with her since her suicide attempt as I know she needs friends and hell, I could always use a few more. I think. Anyway ~ I write into this moment before I need to log out.
Wake up, Wake up. Wake up.
I feel restless just reading those words. Judged, less than. I am awake, I want to shout, but it is like in that gelatinous dream state when your mouth can't move and the words get stuck in your throat. Leave me alone, you shout. Inside. Silent. Seething.
They want me to write of ragged again. Like raggedy ann, who doesn't look ragged at all to me, she is far too neat and tidy, no dust or damage or drudgery in her pudgy red shoe feet. I believe she has red shoes, doesn't she? Ragged has stuffing pouring out of the heel and a hand, covered with dog bites or cat scratches. That is ragged. Like me.
First try went like this:
I feel ragged today. This describes me. Tattered, shorn, not any exact nameable shape. Not even patchable. I don't feel patchable at all. I feel tired and limp and hanging off the side of an old laundry basket. Not able to be tamed by convention. I write ragged. I sing ragged, I read ragged. I bug ragged. I seek ragged. I am ok with ragged.
I need support. oftentimes more than I get.
I try to be independent. I am, primarily independent but if I would be truly honest, that feminine form of mutual, collaborative interdependency is what really turns me on. Shared leadership rather than one-leader. Strengths leading the leadership and weaknesses being loved into being ok rather than being mortal enemies.
Support is something I give more than receive.
It would be obvious to many that I am miserable in this relationship, in that relationship and I am great or somewhat great in living the moment with my children. And what is the most important? Loving my kids or having a man who compliments me, you know, like a left hand compliments a right hand. I wish I had that, but I would rather have a couple or three great kids, like I have who won't leave me for a newer model.
It is metal. It is like the place in Northern California, Copperopolis. Near where I want to take Samuel, exploring Samuel Clemens. Conversations with Danvir. Showing up, performing. Being present to all we are, all we hope to be, where we are going. Discovery, exploration, a filled belly. Exercise. Love? Love. Love. I want to go there. I want to be there. Listen.
Corn flakes
Snow flakes
dandruff flakes
soap flakes
Hope flakes floats moves
people are flakes when they don't show up
flakes are small sheddings
little bits and pieces jots and tittles
flakes
move
dirt
they are dirty aren't they
except for soap and snow
I wonder what it is people think
when they hear the word "flakes?"
I'm thinking abaout retiring. Using up what's left and spend time tracing ivy wih my eyes, leaving the to-do list behind and just settling into a garden chair, allowing the breeze to nestle in, behind my ears. Knowing sunrise will happen, sunset will happen, and life will happen whether I push this way or that way or not any way at all.
My reader will say to me, "Love you, Julie!" want to be near you, Julie - and now this crazy task bar is saying "Time's up?" what sort of insanity is that? So I outsmart the site and set my timer on my phone.
Reader, what do you want me to write about?
Reader, what is important to you?
Reader, what is your favorite color?
Reader, what makes you cry?
Reader, what gives you hope?
Reader, what helps you get through the day?
Reader, what do you want from life?
Reader, what do you want from me?
Reader, what do you want to change?
Reader, what frightens you?
Reader, what don't you understand?
Reader, what do you want to understand?
Reader, what do you need to hear?
Reader....
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