*walks out onto stage*
*blinding spotlight clicks on*
I've rehearsed this so many times that I should be nailing it right now. Maybe that was the problem. I am over-rehearsed. It's taken me so long to take these initial steps that I have too much to say. A lot I've wanted to say but never did. So where should I start? There's so many new thoughts and feelings, but as the old ones loom in the doorway under the exit sign, I feel it's appropriate to wish them well. So. Prologue. This month is in honor of where I've been, because where I now stand means nothing without my worn shoes.
[Confessional Booth]: I am not your average, sophisticated writer. To be honest, I was an "A" English student and pretty much understood grammar and structure. But the little girl that used to try so hard to color inside the lines somewhere along this rocky road decided it was better to just let go and accept the mad mad mess. I overuse "...", I will capitalize words at awkward moments, I might try a incomplete sentence or two, and I will, *shrugs*, always talk in action when I feel it's appropriate. For the inconvenience...*sheepish grin*.
Before the Writing Hiatus, Circa 2008-2010; The Cocoon Gets Tiresome:
I read the word in a book today. And something popped. My energy flew inward and formed a little bubble at my core. And then....
*pop*. (Yeah, I would've preferred a Kaboom as well...just for effect.)
I wrote it on my hand. V-I-C-E. I can't remember the last time I ever did that, physically taking a pen and doodling on myself, with the exception of high school. In between giggles. Pens were cool. Too bad I wasn't. Yikes.
'Vice is a practice or habit that is considered immoral, depraved, and/or degrading in the associated society. In more minor usage, vice can refer to a fault, a defect, an infirmity, or merely a bad habit.' Says the online dictionary.
I don't know why I looked it up. Like the universe would form a gaping hole and enlightenment and resolution would rain down on me like glittery stickers. I know the word. In fact, I think I know it less now that I've read Webster or whoever's take on it. *Honorable mention: Maybe I should write a dictionary.*
I look at this word on my skin and I feel branded. It's not just some word I found apparently interesting at the time. I find many words intriguing. For example, Finagle...Rotisserie...Cherish. Those are some good words. For some reason I never found them skin-worthy. Not in the same way I labeled myself today.
I am my own VICE. Me. Well...lack of me. It says right here on my left hand. It's as if I was in "Memento: the sequel we forgot to make" and I layered on the one word that would bring me right up to date.
Everyone is writing blogs about this refreshing new year of 2008. How strong they feel and ready to rise and seize the day. And I'll admit, there is an eerie sense of Empowerment running around in circles and smacking my ass, and when I catch the little bastard I'm gonna take back my Tiara. And my skittles. But until then, something inside said, "There's someone in here."
And I said, "Oh shit, get it out get it out get it out..." like I had a frickin spider in my hair. So now I don't know if it's still in there, or if it's in my ear now....or what. I swatted prematurely. I panicked. I viced.
Viced: The action of finagling the development of the the inner rotisserie in which you really want to cherish.
Great. Now I'm imagining someone rotating inside of me burning alive.
That is EXACTLY how I feel.
So...now, in the same way an inner child can either work for you or against you (it can either keep you a child or strengthen you to mature), it appears a vice has a way of evolving itself in the same manner. I don't want to cry about it anymore. I can use this fire for good.
My hand shakes. My insides shift.
I am breathing out smoke as my rescue begins.
"There is someone in here."
Device: A contrivance or an invention serving a particular purpose, especially a machine used to perform one or more relatively simple tasks
I am my own Device."
Simple tasks. It makes me laugh now because at the time they were anything but. I love being able to look back in time and say "Oh man, if only me now could kick me then's ass. I thought I was soooooo smart. I didn't know shit." It dons me with a pipe and top hat representing a new me that should get her ass kicked in two years or so. It's a good thing I'm not the type to ever figure out time travel.