|
© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy but I like you."
|
The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
When I ride a roller coaster I keep checking the seatbelt like a lunatic.
Every Punch And Kiss 07-September-2007
Dying is easy It's living that scares me to death. –Annie Lennox
I used to spend huge amounts of time thinking about being famous. I figured being "somebody" would render me important. I've never felt important. I tend to collect moments filled with words and gestures that either give me a favorable feeling about myself or a shitty one. I have a proclivity for spending a good deal more time with the shitty ones. I don't think I'm alone in the activity of gleaning stuff from outside myself for the use of a fleeting hit of self-esteem. In fact, I know I'm not.
A bunch of years ago, I was singing at a club one night when I spotted a well-known singer in the audience whom I'd admired for years. She said I was wonderful. That word, all of its nine letters standing amicably together, transmuted into a magic carpet on which I soared through two weeks of my life, high above anything that might normally bring me down. My buttons were unavailable for pushing and I felt unusually delightful. It was the first time I had become cognizant of feeling good about myself due to some outside influence, though certainly not the first time I'd engaged in that sort of thing. I watched myself, knowing the elevated sense of worth wouldn't last forever and realizing it never could as long as it was an outside job.
I'm approaching forty. I have so many issues with that, it leaves me punch-drunk. I've got enough depression and anxiety for a crowd of people to share and still be noticeably uncomfortable. I have other health issues lingering like lint on felt, and if I bottled my frustration, the stench would kill anyone within twenty miles. No one ever expects to be blindsided. But I've been lingering at the crash site for eleven years. I don't recommend that kind of lingering.
What's most important to me is to shed the desire to be "somebody" and accept who I am, no matter what. I've spent immeasurable hours trying to attract exogenous influences that make it easier for me to think well of myself for five bloody minutes. You'd think it would be effortless to just dip into self-acceptance but, my God, it's the hardest fucking thing in the world for me. And I don't even know why.
I mostly avoid things now that would give me a transitory confidence boost. I want what's genuine and what doesn't break and fall off if I wake up on the wrong side of the raft. It seems easier to define yourself from the outside but it never sticks. The money, you come to realize, won't buy what matters; the teeth you've bleached beyond reason and the body you've sculpted to fat-free perfection won't bring you love; the comments and compliments you collect, your executive parking spot, the attention of the guru—none of that will do it.
I've been writing about this since I started this website; the quest to accept and to like who the hell I am. I'll get there eventually. I have removed every layer that once covered all the aching in my world. No wonder I am raw. And no distraction holds enough water to dilute this tenderness. But I really wouldn't have it any other way, because I have no desire to remain the same.
I also have no desire to blend in. There is so much bullshit floating around these days, I'm thinking of getting a hazmat suit. I saw a commercial yesterday for some garbage you inject into your smile lines so that men will follow you on the street. The ad conveyed that you'd become more acceptable in society and attractive to men, even in fluorescent lighting. Good living hell. And now that everyone and their sock monkey have whitened their teeth, the few of us who haven't pretty much look as though we don't give a shit, when in fact my dentist says I have the cleanest teeth in town. I'm just fucking happy to have teeth at this point, what with 20+ years of bruxism under my belt. No kidding, I look like a prizefighter while sleeping, courtesy of the mouthguard. A real sex symbol. I refuse to bleach my teeth, inject my face, etc., to fit some mold of what is now the ideal something-or-other. I'd rather write good songs and give myself a break. If we're not careful, we'll eventually end up relinquishing our own aesthetic sensibilities in favor of finding beauty and the lack of it solely where we're told.
It isn't cool to be sappy, but I don't give a sixpenny suck about all that. Here's some honest sap: The true brightness of a smile comes from the warmth and happiness inspiring it. And genuine beauty exudes from the inside and has nothing to do with bone structure or the elasticity of your skin. And if that sounds lame to you, you can go ahead and suck my heart chakra.
Two things I have learned since high school: 1. Lesley Ann Warren and Susan Sarandon are two different people, as are Karen Allen and Brooke Adams. 2. Every moment is an opportunity to change everything.
Thanks for reading.
Linda
|
|
