The muse has struck. Actually I just plowed through six pieces of toast with orange marmalade and have decided to move my fingers to a keyboard versus stuffing carbs and sugar into my pie hole.
Do you follow Astrology Zone for your monthly horoscope? You should. It’s a fascinating read and one I enjoy monthly. There have been the few scattered predictions that have occurred and I suppose it’s my penchant for ‘waiting for the big one’ (which only truly applies to orgasms and heart attacks) that keeps me a stalwart returning reader.
For the month of May my horoscope states that the time for procrastination with regard to writing a book is over. There is no more time left to delay. I’ve had a couple of friends through the years tell me that I need to write a book. But while I maintain everyone has a story to tell — a book that resides within the framework of their life experiences, I’m not certain I have a clue as to what I’d write about. Do we really need another tell all tome on growing up gay? Or a novella on emotional abandonment from a narcissistic mother? I think not. Some legit author or published poet that I used to follow stated that one should “write what you know.” I know a lot of trivial bullshit. And my heart knows betrayal, lust, and revenge. My brain knows the engulfing fog of depression–who, like a good dog, is never far from my side.
But do I have a book within? I remember very few details, actually, from my teen years. Not that I’m suggesting my teen years as a jumping off start point, but those years decidedly created who I am today just as much as any genetic DNA coding.
My family moved to a new town as I entered freshman year. Those clique friendship circles were already locked and loaded; I would be the proverbial ‘new kid’ until I walked across that stage and grabbed a diploma four years later with a kiss-my-ass stride. I walked so purposefully to get out of Dodge that I’ve never been back for a single high school reunion. But I digress.
I can’t tell you much of what I learned from books during those years, but I do know deep, secret shame, the self-doubt, the wobbling insecurities, and the burning flush of embarrassment–with regard to being different and KNOWING one is different, at the hands of ignorant bullies.
There was no “it gets better” program back in my school days. (when dinosaurs walked the earth) and while so many find me the center of attention nowadays with a command of sartorial status and sparkling wit I am also very adept at receding into the shadows without much notice. Those high school years taught me how to become invisible. And if I had to choose a super power that is the one I’d reach for minus hesitation. But those torturous years served me well: I will always see the humanity in those perceived as ‘less than’ and I will always pull from within myself when times are tough. When one has nowhere else to turn for empathy, look deep inside.