If you have ever spent any time listening to me, you may have noticed that randomly included “back stories” are my thing. I might start by telling you that funny thing that happened yesterday after work and end up diving into 4 additional autobiographical tales, each containing their own parenthetical sub narratives.  Let’s do some “for-exampling.”

Exhibit A, if it please the court (I watch way too much “lawyery” TV, also medical. I think I may know how to do a lap coli. Anyone have a faulty gall bladder?): An example of my disfunction – or maybe this is actually the best function there is, and all the others have the problem… (I think that’s what all the psychos say.) {Writer may be said “psycho”} I told a normal person that nothing exists without me, and everything is just part of the story about me, and she got REALLY angry like she was scared it was true. I was just being goofy as I always am, with a straight face and she railed on me about how conceited I was. I mean, unless she was mirroring my methods by pretending to be offended with a straight face – (she was a consummate professional if that was the case)( OH WOW!  that rhymed), but I think it was genuine. And so, I said the thing that NEVER reduces the offense “Just kidding.” 

Exhibit B, entered into evidence: Motive and Opportunity: I am always writing in my head. It’s so weird, but I have steady streams of “writing” always. Sometimes poetry, sometimes prose, and my stinging sadness stems from the fact that a lot of my creation is built to perfection in my head and never gets written down, because while I have all the motivation to create it, I’m lacking opportunity to put it in a readable format. Once it comes out, it satisfies whatever created the missive in my head and it’s lost. Is this a transmission from outside myself? Is it really just for me? (that cannot be true, because people deserve to hear some of this stuff). A lot of ideas and word crafting come to me in the shower and/or while driving. Once I’m clean or destinated, my brain moves on to new conversations (some of these ONLY between my left and right hemisphere; I have played out full dialogues in my head – if people only knew what was behind the freckles on my forehead – Oy vey). 

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Maybe I am kidding myself and maybe all this that I perceive as “drop the mic” is simply folly. It tickles my ears but would fall flat with no bounce to someone else, like the normal person who called me conceited for joking that all life was just a creation to keep my brain busy until I die. So far… zero comments and few likes of any kind for anything I’ve entered in this internet bucket. But whatever, it’s a place to put my things that isn’t going to get lost and make me sad, like so many past writings lost as mist to the searing sun. (I’m still trying to recreate “Some Trailers are Nice” – that is a loss that still hurts.) Its okay to see me as a bad writer or a messy grammatist. You know what, I don’t care. I like being messy and somewhere on this earth, there is someone who also finds it to be an asset. Someday that person will read this and say “Yo Sister” and we will be friends.

Until Next Time,

Your Friend, Tracy