Monday Mimisms ~ Crazy People Never Cry

That's my working theory.

So let's just wipe that smile right off our faces, shall we? It's time to look in the mirror.
For a woman who started this blog on the premise and promise that she would remain transparent, open, vulnerable and more vulnerable...I'd say that last part proved to be a bit much for my delicate southern constitution.
But wait. There's more.

Perhaps that was part of the master plan of the bloggiverse. After all, it's easy to be transparent when things are going well and your soul is intact. Nobody wanted to peer beneath my pencil skirt when the fractured pieces didn't fit. Did they?

Of course they did. Silly me.  People live to see you fall apart. Even more so than when all the seams lined up and there were no jagged edges to unravel. Some people hate it when you don't cry on cue. It's so annoying! And oh so disappointing when they want to see a train wreck and get a party invitation instead. Frayed hemlines on a woman-in-the-making are never attractive, at least that's what I hear when I read nice tidy stories in those Chicken Soup books. All the loose ends predictably come together even after the fainting couch and melodrama doctor has saved the dreary day. It might have been good for the soul but it was bad bad bad for my form. And I'm always in the middle of some monumental morphing evolution. I need a good form. And I've had my moments. It's just that...that...well..they're my moments and not to be trifled with. Or stomped on.  Or God forbid anticipated.
So if you don't mind, I'm gonna fall down wailing on my curvy paisley settee and have myself a good ole' cry. I'll be blasted if I'm gonna run off half mad today.   I just don't have the time for it.   Because you see, one little strand of that hemline has remained ever so true. The more I tried to suppress whatever emotion I needed to post on this palette at the time, the clearer it became that crying on cue was not going to happen. Tough cookies for waiting sharks. And thank you, O Waiting Ambulance Chasers, for the waiting epiphany that had been.... well.....waiting ...for me. I thank each and every gleeful manipulating nemesis for this revelation: I tried to look at the writer in the mirror. I couldn't stand the sight of her. The woman on the page and the woman in the mirror were strangers.    It might just be the most beautiful reflection I've ever put to paper.    No matter how insidious or benign the threat, censorship is the enemy of art and the weapon of bullies. It only made me want to open up the box marked vulnerable even more.   Walking on eggshells is not good for one's form. You know what I mean. You've been there. Stepping out with my hem dragging the floor might sometimes satisfy those waiting to pounce, it might even bring a perverse sort of pleasure, but thank God my unconventional and dangerous lack of armor is laid thick with the scars of  vulnerability - because it is my greatest strength.    So. I'm dusting off the mirror.      If you want to strike a chord in this world, if you want to really connect with people, do this: Wallow real good down and dirty until your boots are soiled and your skirt is unraveled. Pick yourself up and fall down again. Your heart will continue to beat as you wave at passing ho-hum brickhead opposition with an on-cue crazy smile on  your face. Keep doing what you do. You will notice that you might still be standing in a pile of dung, but standing you are.  You have to have the courage to embrace the muck and fall face down in it.    Without it, you have no integrity at all.  
But back to the crazy people. And why they never cry. They're brittle as empty bricks. And hard as nails. When you drop them on their heads nothing falls out.  Not even a beautiful battle worthy tear. Crazy people never cry. 
If you're gonna be a writer worth your salt, worthy of your words or even worth a damn, commit to bringing your best self and your worst self to the page. Your highest glories and your most miserable moments. And for God's sake, cry. You'd better get used to the fact that once in a while no one in the world is going to buy into a thing you say.  It really only matters if you get it.    As for that delicate southern constitution. Oh please.