The Wordsmith

I was thinking about the way I write, the way I talk...... me.  Sometimes  from growing up a good Catholic Girl, I think I am supposed to write a way that is according to  "The Rules." Not mine, just so I can stay middle of the road,  not to shake things up too much. Sometimes the real me is a little too real, or boring. I definitely swing either way. The way I talk, the  people closest to me.... know I just let it rip. What I think is funny, deep, whatever it may be.  Unfortunately, I have a slight fascination with certain cuss words. When I said them as a child, I got soap down the throat for saying just the  mild ones.
Makes sense I would go for some reactionary words later. I am still chuckling thinking about what old senile nuns would do, hearing it.  I must not get out much.
Things like that have always made me laugh. The price was so steep, so when you got in trouble for anything in Catholic School, or at home, you'd better be willing to pay. It wasn't that I dug paying, it's just that I always loved the reactions, and could live a while on  them. So pleasurable to me, especially coming from so much repression. So, life's simple pleasures for this gal, an occasional cuss word still has me sheepishly grinning that I am going to The Confessional for it..... for certain.

I have always played with words, much to my Mothers dismay. She was a Teacher, speaking  English  correctly being critical to her life .  It wouldn't make sense if I didn't say "Ain't" constantly. Unglue her with her hillbllly daughter's ways. She is so literal, that it made the game all that much more fun. Content of what we were saying mattered so little usually, and with six children, it was a free-for-all.  Usually as long as we said it right, that was good enough. But boy oh boy  did  those ears perk up when we threw a  few choice cuss words around. She seemed to have a spark in her eye...... get the biggest friggin bar of
Ivory Soap known to mankind out. No worn down ones with this gal. She had a mission.
She was going to teach us Heathens  a lesson. That soap was crammed so far down our throat.
Good times at the Gagliardi household.

I actually am realizing as I write this, I have a lot to thank that Old Dame for. Through her constant criticism, it actually made me play with words. Have fun with them. I have always enjoyed
words so much. I never realized the backwards gift she gave me. It takes what it takes.
Sometimes to create, we have to come at it from a different angle. Maybe I needed an angle like her to be me. Not one I would wish on the feint of heart, yet somehow I am starting to see, just this year....
is it in spite of? What would be the proper term and who would care. I am here, I have figured it out, or am well on my way, and I am leaving the Ghosts behind. Ain't that something?

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall.......

I haven't written  in a long time. No desire. it happens when it happens, usually in spurts.
Today would be born completely out of pain. I am riding this wave until the finish. I know it will be a biggun. What kicked it in to overdrive.....fear. Nothing less, bone chilling, gut wrenching, feel like puking your guts kind. So  here I  type, ready to slay another dragon. This one is one of my own making.
I thought it was "Out there,"  but alas.... this sucker belongs to me.

I have reunited with a childhood friend. It has been wonderful. Great fun reminiscing. Sharing stories of past times, our families, etc. I have enjoyed this time immensely. What I didn't realize about myself, is the separate life I keep. I really got it today more than ever. The Private Lives of Clare Spencer. I have lived them in one form or another for so long, I had just forgotten. Always representing the truth, the picture I wanted people to see..... depending on what crew I was with. I am sure many people show the many faces of their lives. This is probably quite normal and healthy. Called boundaries. Some things are appropriate  with one person, totally inappropriate with another. What I realized today through uncontrollable tears, my fear of being accepted for me. All the way through. My story. Who I am. Not the glossy, cleaned up version. The one that I can make so normal, funny, whatever I need to.  The real me. Foibles, warts, fears, pain, and all.

Yes I love a good laugh, in fact live for it. Thrive on it, crave it. Get's me through everything. Literally has saved my life. But the real me, is one intense little lady. Built on some very intense experiences, that quite frankly I wouldn't  wish on anyone. I am so glad I had them, though. They have made me~ who I am.

I am stronger, wiser, much more compassionate.  I was one very lazy gal pal. My experiences shook me to the core, and then some. I was supposed to be shaken, just as I was today. I tell everyone else to love themselves. Yet I lack so much compassion for me. Today I came face to face with terror.
For being me, all the way through. My friend may soon see all my stories I have written, not just the two funny one's  I sent him. I will be revealed for my humanity. My weaknesses.  For me. This had me very frightened. Yes, I am still uncomfortable. The truth is, I finally understood, as I am supposed to......
it is time to face myself. Obviously imperfect, but a throw away  as I am suggesting. No.
Mirror, mirror on the wall...... am I still lovable after all? Absolutely.