Once in a dream…

When I was younger I had a dream. It seems silly to me now, but as a child, it’s what I aspired to. I dreamed about what it would be like to stand in front of a crowd, chanting my name, holding lighters up wanting more.

I wanted to be a rock star!

I didn’t want to do it for the money or even the fame. If I wanted that, my choice would have been to be an actor – I just wanted to sing – to be on a stage.

That’s half the reason I chose to be in band – the other half, because I love music. Being in band (I played clarinet) gave me the opportunity to be on a stage multiple times a year. But it wasn’t enough, so in middle school I signed up for the talent show. First year I sang a Britney Spears song, yes, seriously, I was in middle school in the early 2000’s. The second time I sang an ‘Nsync song. (It may be the other way around – I’ve slept a lot since then.)

I may have lost both years but it was by far the best moments of my life. (That’s sad, right?) I probably would have kept entering it but thanks to a group of guys and their screamo, they stopped holding it. They eventually started again, but it was after I dropped out. (That’s for another day.)

As I have gotten older the feeling has calmed however the feeling still appears. My job has an event center which of course has a large stage. Sometimes we’ll have classes and I’ll space out staring at the stage – daydreaming.

The feeling has exploded but not exactly for the stage. I may still get that fuzzy feeling for the stage, but now I get that feeling for the printed word.

I was told once, “If you’re meant to do something you’ll always be thinking about it. When you go to sleep, wake up, and in between.” When I was younger it was singing, performing; anything dealing with the stage – that I thought about all the time. As I’ve aged my thoughts have changed and it’s always thinking about writing.

When I’m not writing, I’m thinking about it. That’s, I think, why I get so frustrated when I get “writers block”. It’s also why I get so angry at myself when I think about ‘Frost’.

I know I question whether I’m supposed to be a writer or not a lot, but it’s not because I don’t want to, but rather – shouldn’t it be easier? Is it normal for someone to take over six years to write a book? I mean, technically, I ‘finished’ it back in 2015. Since then I Have been attempting to edit it – all I seem to do is change things. I basically rewrite it, become aggravated, stop writing for months just to pick it back up – starting over at chapter one, to begin rewriting it again. I swear I have rewrote ‘Frost’ at least thirty times.

I’m never happy with it. I even know that I’ll always be my biggest critic – so why do I do this to myself?

I have this plan! My plan! A great plan! Since I am my biggest critic, and I will probably never like my writing, I decided that after it’s finished – COMPLETELY – I would offer three people the chance to read it and tell me what they think. People I know won’t sugar coat it, or lie because they don’t want to hurt my feelings. I know it’ll be rough, most first books are – I am not going to be the next Jane Austen (I find her work hard to read). I just want to find my voice, my way – be the best Barbara Hightower I can. That’s all I can achieve. I can’t try to be another writer – just me. Because I know, if I am not, I’ll always be disappointed in myself and that’ll be a crappy life.

But first – I must finish ‘Frost’ – which I say a lot. For most, that’s a simple request, but for me – Queen of Procrastination – not so much.

I figured I would end this with a poem –

Silence! I scream loud!
A void, I feel deep, expands,
Forming frustration.

Until next time!
Peace. Love. && Fried Chicken.

PROOF! That I am in fact, editing Frost. Was able to get two chapters done yesterday.

Thoughts Crashing Into Each Other.

The other day, standing in the shower, for a brief moment – I seriously started thinking about stomach surgery. Packing up a little car, going for a ride, talking to a doctor, and having surgery to shrink my football stomach down to a lemon.

In that moment, I quit.

I quit wanting to try, wanting to prove people wrong, and wanting to be proud of my weight loss. In that moment I decided that I will never pull the weight off, and that I’ll be obese the rest of my life. (Even if I don’t want to be.) I decided that I was only fooling myself into thinking that I can do it. (Even though a few years ago I was doing it and a few months ago, I was doing it.) I decided that the journey was too long and if I got the surgery that it would help and take away half the battle. I’d go down one hundred pounds so quick that I would have the energy, and the oompth I’m missing out on. I’d probably be taken off some medications and have a different outlook on life.

I got out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself. I looked at all the extra that I have. I lifted my arms and looked at my sides, I turned and looked at my back. I felt tears, but I didn’t cry. I didn’t let the feeling overtake me and I didn’t let the tears win. I dried off, got dressed (in my black t-shirt and black shorts, which I wear all the time because nothing else fits and I cannot afford clothes that fit me), and sat on my bed – in the dark.

I started thinking about life and things I want to see, or accomplish, or feel, or live. I started thinking about complications, and possible outcomes after surgery. I started thinking about that conversation I’d missing out on when someone says, “oh wow, you’ve lost a lot of weight.” I remembered that I always wanted to say, “Thank you, it’s taken a lot, but well worth it.” I think about how the conversation would be different if I have the surgery:

“Oh wow, you’ve lost a lot of weight. You look great!”
“Thank you, but I cheated, I had the surgery knowing damn good && well that I could do it on my own.”
The look on their face will be priceless, their smile would falter and they’d have a look on their face that screamed ‘I’m sorry I asked’.
I’d walk away, hating myself, because deep inside I know I could do it without it.

A few days passed before I ever talked to The Boyfriend about it. We were standing in a gas station, I had just bought three egg rolls out of the hot box, and we were leaving to come home. It was early (my late) and I had just gotten off of work – I was hungry, but I didn’t want to go home and cook. Who wants to do that when you just worked twelve hours and had to get up in six hours to work twelve more?

The cashier had just told us that she and her husband had the surgery. Together. I scanned her face, her arms, body and I sighed. That look flashed through my mind. She’s older than me, but it briefly frightened me. Would I look like that?

On the way to the car I told them boyfriend, “I’ve been thinking about the surgery lately. Maybe it would help.” He was silent at first, like he usually is when it comes to my weight conversations, but then he spoke. He sighed, and told me that if I wanted it he wouldn’t stop me, but he doesn’t want me to have it. He always tells me, but sometimes after doctor visits and they tell me I’ve gained weight since the last visit, if a doctor tells me I have to have it or death will occur, that he would step aside and let it happen. But he doesn’t want me to get it – I understand that.

I told him, once we were sitting down in the car, that maybe if I had the surgery, it would give me the weight loss boost I’m needing (or think I’m needing) to get the rest off. His face fell slightly, and he just stared at me. I know what he was saying without him saying it. It’s not hard to figure out his feelings toward something he doesn’t agree with. I understand – I don’t agree with it, if it’s not the last option. (I don’t think someone that weighs under 250 pounds should have it.)

It’s been a few days since then and it’s been on my mind. The thoughts – the shower – his reaction – his look – that conversation.

What I’ve realized since then is a few things.
One. I know I can pull the weight off by eating better and exercising. I’ve done it before. (Some part of my body seems to start hurting after three months, and I stop, put all the weight plus more back on, and then hate myself.)
Two. I want to be able to tell people that I did it with hard work, determination, and a lot of blood/sweat/tears. (Surgery will not help me do that.)
Three. I think I love myself too much to put myself through it.

So what has all of this thinking made me realize?

I still want to work hard, take years and pull the weight off by myself. Not with help from a surgeon who is out to make a million dollars by fifty. I know it’s going to be hard, a long battle, and it’s going to take a lot of time.

But I can do this. I just have to get my butt in gear and stop making up excuses as to why I can’t, or wont do it.

Soulmates.

Soulmate: noun. A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.

People are given two soulmates in their lifetime.

A lover.
The one person who opens your heart to a whole new world and wonder no one can give you. A single touch electrifies you. Intensity. Love. Honesty. Affection. Spiritually.

A best friend.
Someone to spend life with that doesn’t hate you, scar you, && is always there to help && protect you. Love. Honesty. Spiritually.

You can love many people in a single lifetime. Some stay, but most leave. Boyfriends. Girlfriend. Friends. Co-workers. Life hands you hundred’s of people in your life but the ones who matter never leave. You may not talk daily, or see each other often – but you know, deep inside, they are there forever.

Growing up I always said, and believed, that a person can only have one soulmate until I realized that’s not exactly true and funnily enough, I realized this while watching One Tree Hill. I will always believe you can only be “in love” with one person in your lifetime. I don’t believe you can feel something THAT strong for multiple people. (You can love as many as you want. Big difference between loving someone && being in love with someone.)

But sometimes I forget about best friends. That one person you meet and you simply think to yourself this person, I like this person, they will be mine forever. &&& it’s true, you may not see them on a daily basis, or even monthly basis. But you know, &&& they know, &&& everyone knows – they are your person.

Your. Person.
Your bestfriend.
Your companion.

Everyone needs that person too. You need the one person in your life who isn’t going to tear you down, or make you feel inferior to everyone else. Someone who doesn’t crumple your spirit, or squeeze you like an orange if you want to believe in rainbows and unicorns. Someone who will not get mad when you trip them into the mud, or lock them out of the car on a rainy night.

Reading that you started thinking about your wife or husband. Boyfriend or girlfriend. But do you think of your best friend. The person you met in elementary school or junior high. Possibly high school or college. Or if you lacked social skills and didn’t develop much until adulthood, maybe you’re thinking about a person at work. A girl or a guy that makes your life a little less stressful and enjoyable. Life is hard enough trying to maneuver your way around it – it’s even harder when you’re alone – that’s why God gave you people. Two people. The two people that will get you through life without too much struggle, or too much pain, heartbreak, or sorrow.

Those two people.
Your lover.
Your best friend.
Your soul mates.

To Read Or Not To Read…

I follow quite a few blogs on here that, when I followed, I figured I would read daily. Just sit around and read, read, and read. But ever since I started following them I realized that I have actually never read them. Any of them. I think I did when I first followed them. I don’t want you to think that I just randomly follow people’s blogs without ever reading anything. I did, at first and I liked what I read. But since the day I followed them I haven’t read them.

What brought this on?

Well, I actually just followed a blog that I have never read anything from just because I’m a fan of them. (A chef from The Food Network). It just makes me wonder if anyone is actually reading what I write. &&&& yes, I am kind of caring whether anyone does or not. I could sit here and lie and say that I don’t care if anyone reads anything I write and I’m just doing this for myself. But like I said – that would be a lie.

I started this blog for one reason – so people can read me. That way people who don’t know me can read something daily (I don’t write daily, sadly) and get to know my writing style. Why? It’s what writers do.

I have read many things (and said many times on here) that I need a following if I ever wish to get published. One day I hope to get published so I need a following. Other than, of course, friends and family. So basically, that’s why I still have this blog &&& twitter for that matter. I tried making a Facebook for the writer side of me, but it wanted to be hooked to my personal one and it’s private which made everything private. It doesn’t work quite like that. So I deleted the writer side and kept twitter and this blog.

So now I try to write as much as I can. I tend to forget to open this and will go days if not months without ever writing. Then when I finally do write something I sit back and look at it and think it’s dumb. So I end up deleting it and never writing another. Yes, I have done that many times.

I cannot remember my point behind this. Heh.

Inspiration Gone.

I was looking for inspiration. It’s been awhile since I have posted anything. But I have found nothing. None. No inspiration. So now what? Sit here and ramble about any and everything I possibly can think of. No. I will not do that. Today anyway.

I’m sitting here staring at my laptop. That’s actually something I have been doing since around eleven o’clock last night. I have been staring at the screen as I write. I finished up chapter five and began writing chapter six.

I’m tapping my fingers loudly on the coffee table as I sit in front of the television flipping through channels trying to find something to watch. I am starting to believe that television is becoming overrated. Nothing on. Ever. A person could have over three million channels and still have nothing to watch.

My mind is running amok in my head. A thousand thoughts are flying around in circles hitting each other in the head but none of them make any sense to me. It’s all a bunch of mumbling to me. The thought of being able to pick one out and understand it would be a great feeling.

It’s 8:30 in the morning. I’m sitting in my brother’s living room floor with my laptop in on his coffee table watching a television show, “House of Payne”, because there is nothing else on to watch.

I still have no inspiration. My mind is thinking about – mostly – my story. Frost. Chapter Six. I began this story the last week of November 2012 & I’m on Chapter Six. Chapter. Six. This is the first story I’ve wrote this much on. Normally, I would have already given up. But look at me! Excitement bubbles up every time I make another chapter. Excitement. Even if as I write further into the story it’s not the way I had planned. I planned it in November. Figured out what I was going to write. As I finish a chapter I rewrite the chapter. Then, as I’m writing the chapter, I rewrite it again. I finished chapter five and began chapter six. Went back and rewrote chapter five again. So in turn, I had to rewrite chapter six.

I still want to write y’all a short story. But every time I sit down to do so, I end up working on Frost instead and never finishing the short story. Yeah. I still have that problem. Start something and never finish it. I might give it another try today as I sit here waiting to watch my normal morning shows that I have missed all week. Yeah. Morning shows. Shows that come on in the mornings.