Disclaimer: Pardon the next bit of ramble…as it is exactly how the thougts are coming out of my head…I talk in circles. I think in circles, but I always come to one conclusion. Reminding me of a movie I watched in an architecture theory class, Run Lola Run, “Innumerable questions looking for an answer, an answer which will raise the next question and the following answer will raise a following question and so on and so forth. But in the end, isn’t it always the same question and always the same answer?” Point is…I am not writing a 5 paragraph essay here. I never have in any of my previous entries, but this one especially tends to be the kind of “blogging” that simply had to be put down on paper, on screen, on web, as it was eating away at me thinking about it, threatening my nights sleep if it was not typed right here, right now, just as it is a ramble of my own thoughts, spurred by a mens magazine interview. Enjoy.
So as I sit here about to hit the sack for the night I am reading and interview. The question is posed: “Is death or morality something your think about or something you’re fearful of?”
I think about this and the answer is something that came to me instantaneously and I keep trying to change it, but know that it is ultimately who I am.
I think about it. I think about the ways in which my morality comes into play on a daily basis. You see, I am not a perfect person. In fact the obvious moral/ethical(which in my mind are two different things, yet so intertwined, like garlic salt. Is it garlic or salt…is it moral and ethical, can it be one or the other?) are the things that I fail miserably on. I am a person who tends to where my heart on my sleeve. I am so overtly bold when it comes to many things that when I keep my mouth shut, I get in trouble purely for not doing what has come to be expected, say it like it is. I am easily distracted by my own thoughts and where as I have thought about seriously getting checked out for ADD, I come to realize that this distraction that goes on in my head, this insanity, that sometimes keeps me from my “priorities,” is the exact thing that keeps me sane. You see I contemplate morality on a daily basis. I am constantly asking myself, what would you change about your past? Can you fix those things? Would you do them differently? Now I am not talking about drinking that 10th shot of tequila your freshman year at the state school that lead you to a night of praising the porcelain king. I am talking about the things you say, the actions that caused the snowball effect of losing your first love, or getting fired from your job as a hostess at a chain restaurant, or giving into the rational that said the homeless guy on the corner was just going to buy beer and cigs. I am talking about the little things that you easily could have taking the higher road on but you didn’t because you gave in to whatever immoral part of you said it wouldn’t matter this time. Point is, I am not fearful of morality. I think about it. I try to live my life with more of it. I am, however, fearful of my own thoughts.
Death…I don’t fear death. I sometimes fear more what happens after death. In fact I think about death and I am kinda excited for it, whenever it may happen. Now for all you crazies out there, I don’t want to die. I want to live a long and happy life. I want to live long enough to see this mess we have gotten ourselves into as a society work itself out. I want to live long enough to find out what it means to really LIVE. Not just work everyday and chat withfriends. Like really live without a care in the world. I want to live long enough to see the difference I know I can make in others lives. I want to see the change that I am in the world. I want to Live, but I am not afraid to die. What I am afraid of is that the people who have left before me are not where I will go. You see I don’t think about death on my part, I think about it as in others. I miss my dad so much. I never knew him and many of analyzations have come down over who he was, who I would be if he was here with me. Who I would have become. The general consensus is that I would be a spoiled rotten, lil’ daddy’s girl. You see I have that in me. I remember reading what my mom wrote in my baby book about him. How she wrote the “daddy’s letter” as he had died before he got around to it, which is unfortunate as he was a brilliant writer. I remember every word. I remember what others wrote about him. The images their descriptionconjured up. I think about this all the time. I think about how he died when I was too young to remember. I don’t have a picture of him and I where he is looking at the camera, except one. It is my aunt and uncles wedding and he is holding me like he is showing me to his kingdom, my mom standing there politely smiling. Sometimes I think her face is saying, “Oh Lord, these two are ganging up on me already.” Point is, I miss my dad very very much, but strangely thankful that I got some one on one with a wonderful lady that is sitting 50 feet down the hall. I am thankful that my father lies in the heart of a mother. But I think about death, but I am not afraid to die. I am excited at the chance that I will get to meet my dad, but afraid that when I do die, I won’t see him. I want to see him. I want to meet him. I want to know what it feels like to get hugged by a daddy. I am afraid I may never know, but anxious to find the answer.
So yes…one opening line of a men’s magazine expose conjured up all this. I don’t know if any of that made any sense at all, but in my head, my heart, my soul, it is my truth at 10:47 pm on June 1, 2009.
Wishing you a lifetime of paper rainbows and smooth peanut butter…W