Bearing my soul

No that’s not a typo – bearing – because I do feel very low right now. I’ve been writing for Sleeping With Bread most Mondays over at Bawdy Wench but this weekend matters have not resolved.

Who am I?

I’m a woman.
I’m a writer.
I’m lost.

I’ve tried regular posting, but Bawdy Wench and Dewy Knickers are more suited to that venue. I’ve tried emails but real life issues prevent many of my friends from replying. I don’t ‘like’ blogging. Rose is too private and too shy to be open enough to connect.

I printed out the complete manuscript of my book this morning, 307 pages double-spaced, for the first time I held the weight of my dreams in my hands. I’m proud of my efforts yet desolate at my lack of motivation. Lack of desire. Why am I this way?

I am shy. Really. My fantasies may be forceful and successful but the body is an insurmountable obstacle. Writing is spontaneous for me but many writers state that dedication and scheduling are the keys to production. Is it just an excuse? Do I really want to write?

Yes. I do.

I think of my friends. In England, in South Florida, in California, in Canada, throughout the United States and in India there are people who know Rose. Some of them I’ve met in person which brings up the strange paradox of social blogging. I can’t talk to my neighbors but a stranger becomes a friend by commenting on my blog.

I don’t ‘like’ blogging but I love the friends who’ve become so important to me.

I could never be an editor. Receiving rejections doesn’t bother me, if my work isn’t good enough, then I need to write better stories. I have lots of ideas, lots of visions, but somehow the urgency, the passion fades away in black and white. The concepts I have are somehow bigger than the page. How do you translate the emotions within the tormented mind?

My mind is tormented; hidden behind his. Filtered through his psyche I find myself munching on stale leftovers. Homeless in a way. I can relate to the fringe people because I am even beyond them. Beyond the far reaches I explore territory filled with monsters, demons and dance with death.

Death is beautiful.

Yet, I am so angry at the world. So angry at the powerful and the rich for being so smug while millions die needlessly. As the economic meltdown accelerates the harsh lessons of the past are returning. Workers are scum. That is a mantra that business has lived for millennia and even a cursory reading of the daily headlines reveals companies throwing employees overboard in the name of ‘cost-cutting’. People aren’t numbers. There is a reason that the rich are hated.

Politicians too. They are all corrupt and have lied, cheated and stole in the pursuit of power.

Why bother?

Why bother fighting back?

Is this the tipping point? Is this when the world commences the slide into anarchy? Are the riots of the past year spreading quicker than the spread between the poor and the rich? Is this the end of democracy?

Alright, so I can write when I put my mind on the keyboard. [That’s a weird visual.]

I like essays. I like writing my thoughts into fiction. I like making the world more complex. I ‘like’ blogging for that reason. Blogging brings the world to my computer and grabs my attention. I want to be there. I want to be with you. I want to live in a giant house with all my friends. [I don’t do dishes though.]

Utopia is a myth.

That is a fact.

People can’t live together… not for long without feeling homicidal. What is it about mind and ego that are so strong? Personality is amazing. I know this to be true for obvious reasons but it still doesn’t make any sense. I have no explanation for me. None at all. Is that bad? Not really. I exist at my own sufferance and death offers me a drink.

That’s a good title: “Death Offers me a Drink”.

Obsessed? No, it goes way beyond that. I’m obsessed with quantum physics.

I am proof. Yes I am.

If every moment of your life is a quantum choice, then I am here, right now because of my quantum path, not his. His is suspended for as long as I choose. Think about that please. As a multiple personality my path diverges as Rose. The search for a literary agent is my quantum path that never would have existed without my decisions. I’ve submitted fiction under my name to journals. I write as Rose and my dreams are mine. Mine I tell you. So who am I?

I am Rose.
I am a woman.
I am a writer.
I am still lost… will you help me?



12 thoughts on “Bearing my soul

  1. (((((Rose)))))

    You say you like to make the world more complex; we are all complex beings, but maybe you’re making your own world more complex than it need be… think about it.

    I don’t know what else to say that will make you feel better. Does knowing you’re loved help in any way?

    I wish I could wave a magic wand and all your burdens will disappear in a puff of smoke, but I’m a mere mortal

    lotsa luv ann xxxxxxx

  2. death and utopia are two of my favorite places.. secretly i am hoping one leads to the other…. but there is no way to ever know for sure without taking the leap….

    just so you know,, i am in therapy (again!!!!!) and thus far it has only served to dredge up enough shit to make me leave work crying two days in a row..

    i have to give my boss some sort of explanation,,, but i am afraid to… too

    i respect your right to privacy,, as you kow i like mine too….. but that doesn’t stop me from loving you,, thinking of you and reading everything you write… even sometimes i am so wrapped up in my own shit i don’t comment…..

  3. Why bother? Why not? (Please, hold that thought and feel free to volley it back into my court as needed.)

    I love the world of blogs, but sometimes it crowds my need for quiet – though, I know that is only in my mind. I dream of living in a commune of interesting people, and then I remember my need for quiet.

    There is a certain amount of feeling lost in everyone, Rose. I just wish you didn’t feel quite so lost.

    Death offers you a drink of what, though?

    HUGS. See ya soon?

  4. Rose,

    It is perfectly normal to feel this way. I too do that at times. Time then seems drab, dull, unliveable. But one has to go on. No other way.

    I do read you in my google reader. Always. So don’t ever feel you are alone. You are not. As you know, I was too wrapped in my own misery to say anything to anyone. I am not saying I am on top of the world now. I am not but I gotta live, don’t I?

    You too. For me, you are a great friend to have. I cherish it.

    Your book is great. I am looking forward to read it, you know.


  5. I’m saddened by what appears to be the world–the noise makers, the ones who get the attention and the airtime.

    But I don’t have to give them rent-free space in my head. They are where they are–and thankfully, as an anarchist (of sorts), I am where *I* am. Thank goodness I’m made exactly as I am…..I don’t haffta play along. I can decide what gets my attention and what doesn’t. I can decide where to spend my energy, who and what to give the attention to.

    As can you.

    We each ARE where our feet are–we each get to be ALL that we are……exactly AS we are.
    And ya know what–it’s ENOUGH.

    I dare say you’re ENOUGH……exactly as is.

    Keeping a weblog has connected me with kindred souls. As much as I enjoy my neighbor–(I steal his apples on a regular basis…LOL) he and I have a ‘different’ relationship. The ‘connectedness’ that happens for me with those kindred souls I’ve been graced to cross paths with is a gift. And I don’t question gifts–I accept them with as much dignity and grace as I can muster.

  6. I am lost.

    I can identify with that, I am it’s Queen. No one is more lost than I at any given moment.

    But you, YOU have potential. You have talent and vision. So you are in a lull right now, be introspective. Let these thoughts flow and follow them for a while. Let them lead you to new discoveries, then come back & wirte them out – explain them to us so we can feel where you’ve been. That is the beauty of your words, Rose. That you lead on an your journey with you. We see through your eyes and hear through your words.

    They are truly beautiful. You, my friend, are as well.

    OX D 🙂

  7. Dear Ann, Paisley, Marcia, Gautami, Mel, Jo, Diane and anybody else,

    Thank you for hugging and loving me and understanding where I am. I want so much that I get myself wound up so tightly I can’t breathe. Life is mystery to me in so many ways, except the way you all support and care for me and my dreams. I’ll find my path, the path that is right for me and I will try to learn to enjoy the time I have.



  8. I feel for you.
    I am lost too. I struggle with my own internal matters just like you. And even though I’m a stranger who only started reading reading this blog, I feel connected, in a way, to who you are

    Rose is too private and too shy to be open enough to connect.

    and that is who I am.

    “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

    Torment. Death. What would life be, if it weren’t balanced out by death? Doesn’t it bring out who we are? So even though we mourn, let’s try to get a smile in, here and there.


  9. i am lost too. what does that mean really. the purpose of life is to be found? i also am too quiet or shy to truly open up to others.. maybe that’s why i find it so easy to bare my soul on the internet.. lots of lost souls linger here, i think.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s