head case.

been sitting up here in my in-laws' house, reading and writing and preparing for my conference in bennington.  i've had five days, uninterrrupted, to work on stuff and get my head in the right place.  its been a little bit of a miracle.

last night i went to dinner and a movie with alex and melanie, and walked around kendall square like i belonged there.  

tomorrow i'm going to the eric carle museum of picture book art, one of my favorite places in the entire world.  mo willems will be there, so selkie is excited to meet him.  i'm just thrilled to go into their library, which is organized by illustrator, and has the most amazing collection of books i've ever seen.

i wish i could draw well.  

there are these things, these plans that i have in the back of my mind that seem to forever shift in importance but never go away.  for instance, the ukelele.  i swore two years ago that i would know how to play by the end of that summer, but i remain, sadly, untaught.

there's the idea of all of the push-ups and crunches i am to do every day, no questions asked.  

there is also the plan that i will write a children's book.  that i will write a story that will be a book for children.  i've always wanted to do this, and yet i don't.  i buy a book on amazon about how to write one, thinking that it will kickstart my urge, but instead it scares me and i hide it away.

scared of what?

there is a need in me for acknowledgement.  its not enough that i write this blog for myself, or that i write a story and read it to my class.  i need you to recognize my effort, recognize my goodness.

i'm so sick of this need of mine.  the "see me" need.  point me out, call me up, highlight, tag, do whatever you can to provide me with some form of validation.

its so goddamned frustrating.

i try to find the quiet moments to find peace within, and that works, for a bit.  for a bit.  but then i get caught up again, caught up in the need for you to tell me something good about myself.

when i should be the only one doing that.

i am a vain, entitled, self-absorbed person.  or am i just like everyone else?  is this who we are now?

sigh.  

my happiness sometimes seems too wrapped up in other people acknowledging me, and that shit is fucked up.  

why can't i be good why can't i be good why can't i be better than i was before?

change, come quickly.  come take me on, suit me up in the costume of armor and steel me against my own damn self.  thrust the pen into my right hand and demand that i pony up in spite of myself, please.

i am ready for a permanent shift, here.  the kind that alters everything.

or who am i kidding, maybe this is just me, me forever.

do other people ever feel satisfied in their own heads?  what does it look like inside of you? 

the view from in here is murky sometimes.  filled with tinsel and moss and memory strands captivated by time and embellishment.  

it's a tricky place to live in, but i can't deny how sick and comfortable it feels in here.