My Girl Rocks

Okay, so I have two girls now, but this is about the one that can read and write.  Rowan brought home a New Year’s thing where they had to finish the sentences, and it went like this:

What was the best thing that happened to you last year?

–Paul came to [visit] us.

What do you hope happens during this new year?

–To have more playdates.

What is one thing you can do at school to make this new year even better?

–More time to read

What is one thing you can do at home to make the new year better?

–Stop watching tv

What is one thing you can do for yourself to make this new year better?

–Help baby

I have to say, I could write pretty much the same exact things for me!



Getting too old to go out?

So last weekend I went to the Fireball Masquerade Ball, mostly because I knew the bellydance troupe that was performing and it sounded pretty cool.  I had tickets in advance and my brother went with me, which was nice.  We got there right at 9:00 pm when the doors were supposedly open, but there were already a bunch of people inside.  All seating was pretty much taken.   I had some drinks and met my friend Christy, which was good too.  And all in all I had a good time, but. . .well, I ended up leaving before it finished because I guess I’m an old fogie now.

The performances were supposed to start at 10:00 pm but they waited for people to keep coming in so it didn’t start until 11:00 pm.  I was close to the stage, but still couldn’t see half of what was going on, as everyone was standing (and I am a tall girl!).  Ashar Dance was great, as I expected, but sadly there was no fire dance, due to insurance reasons.  The bar was completely swamped, so you had better be prepared to tip to get any kind of service.  I did have a good time with Iain and Christy–but I can see why an older crowd starts to prefer things like the Overture.  Reserved seating, performances that start on time and earlier–yes, I’m just not getting to be hip.

It’s funny, because sometimes I miss the days of going out with my old pals Cyndi and Maria at the Inferno, but I forget it was sometimes hit or miss.  I loved the dressing up and putting on makeup, but at the same time, it could feel so empty and fake.  Like the alcohol is there to help you pretend to be someone more attractive and cooler than you really are.   I’m not on the market, so I’m not looking for a date.  And I have to say, I find myself more interested in doing the bellydance events rather than the goth events because I feel more connection there.

But of course, these are the kinds of thoughts one has when you’re just concerned about the kingdom in your skull.  The choice to have a good time or not is always up to me, my interpretation of events, what I bring in.  And it’s strange to think about all the beautiful people there and their stories.  Were other people just into it, no baggage, no feelings of emptiness?  Other moms getting away from their kids, trying to feel beautiful?  Newbies that had never seen burlesque or steampunk?  I guess I wonder if part of me is just always feeling a little awkward, a little like I don’t belong.  I don’t know what that’s all about.

What’s your purpose?

I spend a lot of time thinking about why I’m here and what my purpose in life is.  It’s sort of my koan, I never seem to find an answer, just more questions.   But I realized tonight that it is to write.

My writing is pretty personal, and I certainly don’t put it all out on my blog.  And I’ve thought about writing a book, somewhat semifictional a la Anais Nin (though probably with less sex, let’s be truthful) but I am afraid to go there.  Vain as I am, I find myself funny and I have strange conversations with myself–perhaps they’re not that funny outside of my head.  And there are so many stories of the great unique people I’ve met–but perhaps those stories aren’t mine to tell.  And perhaps my writing just wouldn’t be that good.

But when I think of my death, whenever it may be, I try to think–what would I regret most if I did not do?  And usually the answer is that I would regret not writing more.   I think it’s the whole legacy aspect.  I really don’t want to be forgotten completely.  I suppose I have my kids–but honestly, it’s just genomes.  My particular genome–whether it gets passed on or not, I don’t really feel it’s that important.  My girls are important to me because I love their souls and watching them grow and explore this world–we didn’t need to be related by blood for me to love them or want to be part of their life.

So if I feel I should be writing more, I guess I should be getting more efficient in my daily life.  Practice would probably be a good thing too.  🙂