So often we get a glimpse of something, of someone, and what we see is clear, sharp, and in focus.
So clear, how could we not understand it with perfect clarity?
We think we know. We think we understand.
And we act as if we do.
We project our beliefs upon that one image, that one snippet, that one tiny vignette that we saw.
And we are almost always wrong.
Sometimes, to be who we truly are, we have to put on a mask.
To feel the freedom to be able to express ourselves freely, we need to hide who we are.
Why is it that, in order to be free, we have to hide?
Why is our fear of consequences so high that we cannot be ourselves, even when, as ourselves, we would be doing nothing wrong?
I hope you have a well-worn and favorite mask you put on to be free. I hope you are free often.
Sometimes I dream that I am dreaming. In those dreams, I know I am in bed, asleep. Yet, that is part of the dream. I am not aware of really being in bed. I dream I am in bed in a bungalow on the beach, dreaming as I listen to the waves of the ocean.
Or I dream I am sleeping in a tent, in a meadow, listening to the birds sing.
Sometimes, in these dreams, I can feel the warmth of the sunshine on my face. Sometimes, I can feel the breeze ruffle my hair and tickle my cheek.
I treasure these kinds of dreams. These are the few that have no worries, no stress, no time pressure.
Just… dreams.
They say you just need to try to see things in a different light to understand.
I wonder how many different kinds of light there are? Sunlight, moonlight, and my least favorite, florescent light.
Maybe a good black light to make your teeth glow.
Personally, I think, a turd will look like a turd in any light. But what do I know?
I don’t really carry around a UV light to check things out. I don’t think I could live with myself if I did. Did I say myself? HA! I mean everyone else!
That’s why I recommend goggles instead.
Specifically, Vodka Goggles.
I have been away from the Internet scene for a little while, because, well, my eyeballs started to hurt.
There is so much trashy bullshit all over the place all the time– *sigh* I can’t even bring myself to properly bitch about it.
Sometimes you just gotta let it go.
People are stupid. We all know that. Everyone is stupid.
Sometimes we even admit we are stupid too. (Well, I’ve been told some of you do.)
It was bad enough to make mistakes when we were kids without having them on the internet and in our face for the rest of eternity, I can’t imagine what it must be like now.
And I don’t want to.
That’s a young person’s problem. They can go out and learn the hard way about being an ass in public. (HA! I mistyped that as pubic and it worked better! I should have left it there.)
Me? I got old. I just wanna have fun and not think about the bullshit or the problems.
I have a friend who recently divorced and started dating again. As much I enjoy a good romance, I can’t even imagine going through the bullshit of dating again! Screw that! I will sit at the bar with my Vodka tonic and anyone can come be my friend, but don’t bring your fucking games or baggage with you.
Anyway.
I forgot what I was posting about, but I feel better. Thanks for listening. (I was talking to my Vodka tonic. I know you don’t give a shit.)
When I first started doing this stuff, I wrote
and I did it enthusiastically.
I set up a second web page at http://janevodka.com/ and wrote
and I was enthralled with what I had planned.
And I have vented vitriol. But I have done it mostly on FaceBook or on Twitter.
And I have dreamed… but they have been mostly in my head. They haven’t made it to my webpage. Which is where I had planned to promote all of the great stories I had planned to write.
But… I seem to lose track of what I want to do, of who I am and how I want to do it.
Sometimes I want to jump into some of the current hot-button topics and NUKE the idiots I see posting. Then, sometimes, I realize I might be the idiot. All in all, I do my best to stay out of it, because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, and I certainly don’t want them to hurt mine.
But where does that leave me?
I thought I wanted to get on the internet and tell the whole world just exactly what I thought of them. I thought wrong. I don’t want to do that. I want…
I want to make people smile. I want to entertain them and make them forget about how crappy the world really is. Even if that means I am venting about something really crappy in the world. I want to find a way to point out the stupid that makes people laugh, not that makes the stupid angry.
Is there a way to do that?
I don’t know.
I want to write romances. I want to fall in love with my characters. I want other people to fall in love with my characters. But I want to make it sexy! But when I read romances…
It seems to much that the characters were stolen right out of the last book. It seems like the sexy is really … perverted. Is there a way I can write stores that are interesting, have characters, and are sexy without damaging my own sensibilities?
I don’t know.
When I first thought of doing all this stuff, it was all I could think about. I was so excited!
Now, I have a half dozen stories all partially written, and whenever I think of working on them, I think of catching up on Arrow or doing laundry instead.
I used to hold things in my head that I wanted to Tweet or FB about, but now, I think… What if that person ends up being my only fan, and they find that post and recognizes it as themselves and it hurts their feelings.
I used to think being a writer would be easy. That being funny would be fun.
Now… before I have even put anything out there for anyone to really see, I find myself shooting myself down, doubting myself, not having fun.
Who am I?
Am I a writer? Can I be Jane Vodka, the snarky alcoholic?
Or am I just old and tired, doomed to watch daytime talk shows between arguments with my family?
Shit. I need a drink.
Hey!
Well! Hello, Jane! There you are! I missed you!
Let’s go make fun of your husband some more before he catches on to what you are up to!
I hear people judging me. They may not be there looking at the mirror with me, but I hear them nonetheless. They have taught me to judge myself for them, so that they don’t have to be there doing it all the time. I do it all the time for them
I hate the mirror. I hate what it represents in our society. If you use it, you’re vain. If you don’t use it, you are a disgusting slob.
Why do we have to live in a world where people starve themselves to sickness or even death because other people have convinced them they look fat?
Why do we have to live in a world where people try to, and do, kill themselves because they feel they don’t measure up to whatever invisible standards others have imprinted into their minds?
When I look into the mirror, I hear the voices, but I see me. I see the hardness in my eyes, looking back, telling me not to listen to the voices. Telling me I am stronger than that, I am better than that, and I can make a difference.
And I try to do that.
I know I come off as a sarcastic bitch sometimes. But there is a reason for it. I’m not really that bitter about the world. Okay, maybe I am, but I do have a reason for it. I am trying to put a little humor back out there. Maybe bring a smile out somewhere. Even if it is only for the little demon on my shoulder who grins and yells “That’s right! Fuck ’em all!”
We all need them. We spend weeks, months, years–sometimes even lifetimes– dreaming about them.
It takes, sometimes, lifetimes to save up for them. Sometimes we never get there.
And when we do, there is lost luggage (after non-refundable baggage fees), Montezuma’s Revenge (after only drinking bottled water), and impotent men (after only bringing the one you’ve had for years).
Rarely do they turn out the way we hoped and dreamed.
Which is why we need books.
Maybe you’re looking for the wrong thing.
Maybe you don’t know what it is you need.
They say “The right tool for the right job,” and I believe that’s true.
Maybe what you need is a new tool…
It sounds so romantic.
Walking in the rain, at night, under the moonlight.
Looking for something you desperately need, but don’t know where to find.
Something that turns out to be a someone.
Someone who needs you, too.
It sounds so romantic.
Until you find it.
Wet dog.
