I'm supposed to be writing right now. Instead I'm allowing myself a beautiful dissociation via Judy Garland and Radiohead. Hollywood ate Judy Garland's soul and then stuffed the empty void full of prescription meds until she died at age 47. Garland's dancing works eerily well with Radiohead's moving "How To Disappear Completely." Torn between wanting to open yourself up and shutting down.
I understand the feeling. My successful brother is starting another community newspaper, this time in my community. He's asked me to write for him. I agreed. Now I'm freaking out.
When I was twenty my Composition instructor at the community college offered me a job writing for another, now defunct, community newspaper. He was the music editor and he wanted me to write reviews for him. I said no. I wasn't ready for that type of writing commitment. I loved writing. My biggest dream was to be a professional writer. But personally I wasn't in a good place. I was at the height of my depressive lows. I had so much work I needed to do on myself. Years of therapy. Years of reading self-help books. Years of growing comfortable in my own skin. I didn't have the energy to write for someone else.
Twenty-two years later, my brother has offered me an opportunity to attract more attention to my blog. I love blogging. It feels intimate and open at the same time. I can write what I want when I want to. No rules. No deadlines. No expectations.
But goddammit, it's time. I'm in a good place. I'm at the height of mental wellness. I've worked on myself for twenty-two years since I got my first writing job offer. I've had the therapy. I've read the self-help books. I'm comfy in my robe, in my own home, in my own skin. Let's see if I can write for someone else now.
...or in another minute or two. Just one more viewing of Judy dancing and I swear I'll get back to work.