i am woman, hear me roar.
oh, wait, nevermind. you can't actually hear me, because i am writing this now, here, tonight, and no one - not you or anyone else - is here to hear. You are reading this later, in some imagined future of which i currently know nothing. You cannot hear me. There is no recorded midi file of my roar or my whimper.
why am i here, inside a machine, locked onto a screen? why am i pounding a keyboard? words on paper...i could be outside, out there, out of the box, out of bounds. i could be pounding the pavement, making noise, making a roar, being heard. instead i am just here, with nothing to show but a written word.
minutes ago i was content, and now i am raging, raving, stark raving mad. My hand is clenched around my pen and i have no idea where all this anger came from. And even as i write, i feel it subside, come and go, ebb and flow, a raging raving tide.
when does it get easier? it has to get easier, doesn't it? this is ridiculous. i have no idea what's going on in my mind. not a clue. i feel like someone else must be pulling all my mental strings...how else to explain the violent mood swings, from calm to furious to ecstatic to clenched to apathetic...all in a matter of seconds? my mind hurts.
sometimes calling a thing by its name gives you power over it, brings it out of the shadows and makes it real, less threatening, less scary, more harmless. but sometimes calling a thing by its name is like name-calling in reverse - it gives the thing power over you, gives it substance and takes it out of the world of shadows.
or return to books and poetry...