This is my "I am so tired I don't give a fuck anymore" face. About the picture, that is. XD
It’s safe to say that in an average week, I call my mother two or three times. Sometimes I call just to hear her voice, because I miss her. Sometimes I call because I’m bored and want someone to talk to, but I’m not sure if any of my friends are available. Sometimes I call because I’m stressing out over something and need someone to calm me down. Sometimes I call to tell her good news, but more often I call to rant over someone being stupid or the world being unfair or some such. In other words, I call her all the damn time, because she’s my mom and I know that 99% of the time she’ll listen to what I have to say and have something soothing, funny, or cheering to say about it.
This week has been busy enough for me that I haven’t called her since Sunday, though (and that was a “oh hey I managed to drive home in the snow without dying” call). So tonight she called me to check in and see if anything was happening. While we were talking about not much, I mentioned the “Artists and Muses” entry (which she “liked” on Facebook, so I know she read it and liked it, she’s not one of those people who “likes” everything). And she said something that made me feel quite bemused. “Yeah, I was kind of confused, you wrote that really great entry on Monday, and then yesterday you posted that totally weird stuff!”
What a handy reminder that while I love my mother, and she is my biggest supporter, there are parts of me that she has never and will never understand. And thank goodness for that. XD
When I was younger, I was often confused and hurt when someone I knew reacted with surprise or consternation at something I did or said. Somewhere along the line, I had gotten the idea that a person has to accept and understand every single part of your personality for them to really love you, and so I wondered if the “weird” and “wrong” parts of me were why my mother seemed to like my older brother more (this is what I thought back then, I know better now) and why I never really had any friends. I sometimes thought my dad loved me more than my mom did, because he seemed to “get” me a lot more than she did (we do share the same sense of humor).
It’s taken a long time for me to realize that while I am myself all the time, I’m not always the same person to everyone. And when I slip up and show a bit of me to someone who’s not used to it, who doesn’t usually see it, and has no context for it, they’re bound to react with surprise. And one of the things about blogging is that I am always changing who I am for posts.
On Monday, when I was writing that post, I was writing it for everyone. I wrote it in language that got the point across and sounded nice, without too many exclamations or words I usually use when I talk out loud. Yesterday, I was writing a post for myself, and my best friend, and my friend Casey. They’re the only ones besides me who have any idea what any of it meant, and have context for it, because I’ve been telling them about the project (possibly a novel someday) that it’s related to. I mainly wrote it on here because neither of them were online, so I couldn’t just IM them, and I wanted it to be somewhere they could read it later, in case I forgot to tell them whenever I saw them online next (and also it needed to be written down, lest I forget it, I have a horrible memory).
So try to keep that in mind, when you’re reading this little blog of mine. ;D The posts I make aren’t always going to be something you, as the reader, totally understand. I do try to make the majority of the posts accessible to any random stranger who may click by, but every so often I will probably show a bit of myself you aren’t used to seeing. And it’s okay if you don’t understand or care for that part of me. I promise, soon enough there will be another post that you’ll be able to relate to.
Human beings, on average, are quite complex beings. On any given day, I spend a significant amount of time (at least half an hour) thinking about each of the following: food, knitting, work, reading, writing, story ideas, conversations, social skills, clothes, shoes, video games, music, singing, my physical state, what I have to do by the end of the day, what I have to do by the end of the week, sunlight, the sky, my age, the people around me, intelligent discourse, baking, cooking, groceries, errands, money, yarn, people I know in real life, people I know online, blogging, social justice movements, equality, languages, made up languages, and the list continues. Those are just what I spent five minutes thinking of just now, but I know there’s more. Chances are that there are quite a few things on that list that don’t really interest you, reader. And those things are different for each person reading this. My best friend has no interest whatsoever in shoes, and doesn’t really understand why I have been so gung ho about them since finding some I could buy. My mother has no idea why I would spend time thinking about video games or made up languages. The point is, all of that is me. I don’t really expect anyone to understand or care about everything on that list. But it is all me, just the same. Aspects of what make up Chelsea. And even though I am not blogging about every single one of those things every single day, they’re still very much a part of my mental makeup.
I’m always me, but very few people get to see every part of me. ;D
MirrorMe 