It is what it is.
I’m a pleaser. I want the people around me to be happy. I want to smooth their way forward in life. I want to leave behind a satisfied grin. I want to be the hidden favorite, the one who brings a smile. the generous one. the good one.
After I do this pleasing, smoothing thing for a while, with adults, I feel the ting and tang of loss. What have I been given, for all that giving? Have they just taken it all and run? what do they know of me?
You know what? This cycle doesn’t really do me a lot of good. It’s gross. You ever hear of a male artist who spent his free time smoothing the way for others? No? You don’t think Hemingway gave a shit if the kitchen counters were clean do you? You think he gave a shit for anything besides his beer and his next adventure?
Almost all the famous women artists that you know of? No kids.
I don’t even have the energy today to call myself an artist. I fight it, in my head, pointing to other people instead. But you know what?! I call bullshit on that.
Just because I don’t have the myopic self-absorption of a male artist? I’m constantly distracted from thought and doing by children and house and family, constantly. and I don’t want to give that up, or choose otherwise. (i mean, i’d give up the distractability, but not the kids and their lives, right?)
They’re growing, I don’t have anyone physically attached to me anymore, so it is easing. Their demands are for presence and food. And the presence has to be close, but not too close. And I laugh as I type, because its true now of all of them, even the 8 year old girl. I’m the favorite sofa. Necessary at times, but not especially expected to speak. I’m the witness and the solidity. (and that might be the best thing i have ever written about the way i’m parenting these kids. although i need to squish flexible into the solidity somehow and I’ll work on that tomorrow. )
I don’t make enough currently with my writing. I’m still supported by alimony and child support. I’m going to have to get a higher paying job to manage without them. When then will I have the time for the writing and the thinking? I’m not at all digging where my mood is taking me right now.
it is the way it is.
and it’s my whole gig right now, to imagine something else.
my daughter asked me what my dream job would be. just this morning. no lie. and i told her, ‘mom’ and then for the second, i was stuck. but also very very dreamy. what is it? what’s the feeling i want when i go to work, what’s the subject i want to be working with? thinking with? hmm?
I need to get more dreamy.
This is a rambler. I’m working shit out, I think. Maybe next time I’ll write it somewhere else first and come here with something more cohesive.
but i wouldn’t want to shock you too much. heh.
hmmm. thought-filled.
love, love,
me.
Witness, presence, and solidity are good. Distraction not so much. Another group of women writers have spouses with incomes that allow them to focus on the writing. but still they have to find a way to deal with the distractions. How do they do it? Interesting to find out.