Here’s the thing. So much of what I write and have written is and was melancholy. Moody. Dark. Hopeful? And not long ago I wrote “Better Days are Here” because they are now. Every day is lighter and brighter than the one before. Well, except for this week. More on that in a moment.
As such, I’d like to transition my writing to something more joyful, blissful, carefree. One of my signature moves and also character flaws is the desire (need) to announce a change. For example. I announced my renunciation of gluten. Of dairy. Of synthetic fabrics. Fragrances. I announce my decisions and my life choices. God I wish I were more humble. I share everything I find with anyone and everyone who will (or won’t) listen. I say this to say, I can be obnoxious. (Sorry about it.)
And when it comes to you, I’m announcing (I can’t help it.) that you’ll be consuming a happier genre here. And I’m a bit terrified for the transition. When I was in the deep dark (my favorite place, apparently), I would find myself annoyed (jealous) by anyone who had something joyful to say. “It must be nice. Tryna be like you, my boy” –read with deep sarcasm. So please allow me some trepidation as I find myself and my writing deeply judged by Lynette in the Deep Dark. It can be a vulnerable thing, being unabashedly glad in public or in private, really.
Now, let me come back to this week. Between and among being pulled over (blame my dad for teaching me to drive), an aging cat peeing on the foot of my bed, smashing my littlest toe in the door, diarrhea and vomiting by the dog and me, respectively, a migraine, and more carpet diarrhea and a surprise pile of turds behind my nightstand. Not to mention menstruation and premensturation and a surplus of crying.
I’m still okay and I’m still happy and grateful. I did cry big, earnest tears, but it didn’t send me spiraling. And I’m thankful for it. Now, when I got pulled over, they did give me a verbal warning and not a ticket. Had they given me a ticket, it may have been enough to leave me in a crumpled heap on the ground. But I guess we’ll never know.
My biggest complaint now, my existential issue, is that I’d like to be eating fruit, tits-out (metaphorically and literally) in the woods. I’d like to be living as monkey in the wild and not as a human-thing on a computer. So, I’ll still have plenty to complain about. I’ll still have to search and find, scratch and sniff around for the beauty in this weird place where we pay taxes and file claims. And if I happen to spiral, you know it’s because my fingernails aren’t dirty enough, and my food isn’t fresh enough, and I been scrolling on my phone more than I’ve been strolling out in nature. But each day, I’m working toward becoming a little more feral. A little more wild. A little more me.