Looking up/down, all directions

oh Christine, you inspire such words from me. I will write a blog post, because this comment has been written and pared back 3 times already. LOL TOO MANY WORDS SPEW OUT MY FINGERTIPS, can’t zip shut a “mouth” that one cannot touch.

Comment on the writer’s painted page. Christine Betts, the best.

Reflexive journaling – looking back, in, out, for- ward.

So sets the ward, the watchtower guardians. Emanated manifestations of the term “watch (out/for) yourself.” Projections of the master’s mind. Discipline yourself to reap maximum results (hint: doing with another, though not ANY other, makes the journey easier and more enjoyable)

I love this. I can pretty safely say I have had the absolute opposite life path experience to you. Let’s extend the travelling metaphor and go with the 2 way road. Blinkers to indicate turning, or merger of lanes.

I’ve always been a great navigator, a fine sense of direction. Reading maps was a happy favourite pastime of mine. I’d legit read the UBD and loved to see what roads led where and locate the pedestrian pathways. I’ve also consistently kept a journal or notebook throughout my life. One online and another offline. The offline ones I’d have “Alita’s book of shit #” on the cover written in texta. LOL And I’m pretty sure I’ve written on my blog here that my paper journals always end up resembling “a beautiful mind” – crazy mess of scribbles on pages, random shit, and what not.

Thus my plight “I need an adult!” to help keep me on track moving towards something, or direct my focus/purpose. And because I am an adult, competent and capable, everyone close to me gets super frustrated (and pissy) like I’m full of excuses and shit, selfish to the nth degree because all I ever talk about or do or think about is ME, ME, ME.

I often hated my journals because they have the voice of the petulant child, depressed and self-pitying and waaah-waaah-woe-is-me. I would read my words and hate that they made me sound like I was ungrateful, resentful and like some broken abuse victim. I’m not any of those things, my written words were my way of releasing those negative feelings and thoughts. I’m an unreliable narrator, even to myself in private. What we think and feel and hear or see is not necessarily the truth of the thing.

True story, this is the story of my life. I am all characters unless stated otherwise. These are my memories and my experiences, all coloured in my ultraviolent light. I will share with you what I told the journeyman.

Haha, well I’m every woman, man, child, elder, student, teacher, saint and sinner. I am everyone, and yet none of these. My whole blog is just me talking out into the ether about whatever I feel like, whatever I see may be helpful or necessary.
Stick around and observe my one woman show perform all about ME! Enjoy the ride, or learn and grow with me. Follow, the path is paved and wide, though invisible. Forged the damned thing myself over every lifetime.

iQuote myself

Opening and closing with a quote of my own. What serendipitous timing, a happy, unexpected accident this form has taken on.