Friday, October 18, 2013
Imagine, me, a blogger. I haven't even figured out Twitter and now I'm doing this. So here I go head first over the precipice. The biggest thing about this first step is the fear. Fear of failure. Fear of the unknown. Fear of self. Fear of others.
The fear is mine. I own it and it is real. It controls every detail of my existence no matter how trivial or mundane. I have lived for periods of time without it and remember those times with dream like awe. Those times lasted for months and even years but they were not real. Real meaning in the truest form of time/space. They were fantasy. I lived them but as someone else.
The Barbara that I am right this moment, the Barbara that is writing this blog, is not the Barbara that went to college and earned her 4 yr degree in Mass Communication in 2 1/2 years and graduated with honors. That Barbara even started her Masters Program before graduating. Then I showed up and the whole thing fell apart. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't write a sentence. Something singularly wicked had happened to me, I had lost my imagination. Creativity no longer existed. I made a conscious effort to locate it. I had always pictured my mind as being a filing room and all my ideas and knowledge were tucked away in neat retrievable drawers. The room that was my mind had become a whirlwind of papers. All the drawers stood open and great fans had been turned on to cause everything to scatter. I cold see myself trying to catch at the bits of information flying about but to no avail. To this day I have never found what or who opened the files and turned on those fans.
The fans have stopped and 13 years have passed. Thirteen years that are mostly a blur. I have begun to pick up the bits of information scattered about the room and am slowly getting the files in order once again. What is left of once a brilliant mind may be lost forever and a fear of the fans continues. I find solace in living where I do. The mountains are a comfort in themselves. They offer a feeling of returning to the womb. Thus, I write as schizoozy in Appalachia.
Schizoozy is a funny word. I found it while in college. You need to know that I attended East Tennessee State University in Johnson City , TN between the years of 1996 and 2000. I was 34 when I entered college that fall. Cultural and social diversity are the main things I learned there. The introduction to the music of Yo Yo Ma was part of that experience. I was studying the History of Appalachia when I came across his "Album of Appalachia." One of the songs was titled "Schizoozy" and it stuck with me all my remaining years in on form or other. Google it and listen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vguZmqHJ6OA&list=TLldMJIUC_QE8Z9RFPjpu5M5ms8Em3HFAM
The fear is mine. I own it and it is real. It controls every detail of my existence no matter how trivial or mundane. I have lived for periods of time without it and remember those times with dream like awe. Those times lasted for months and even years but they were not real. Real meaning in the truest form of time/space. They were fantasy. I lived them but as someone else.
The Barbara that I am right this moment, the Barbara that is writing this blog, is not the Barbara that went to college and earned her 4 yr degree in Mass Communication in 2 1/2 years and graduated with honors. That Barbara even started her Masters Program before graduating. Then I showed up and the whole thing fell apart. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't write a sentence. Something singularly wicked had happened to me, I had lost my imagination. Creativity no longer existed. I made a conscious effort to locate it. I had always pictured my mind as being a filing room and all my ideas and knowledge were tucked away in neat retrievable drawers. The room that was my mind had become a whirlwind of papers. All the drawers stood open and great fans had been turned on to cause everything to scatter. I cold see myself trying to catch at the bits of information flying about but to no avail. To this day I have never found what or who opened the files and turned on those fans.
The fans have stopped and 13 years have passed. Thirteen years that are mostly a blur. I have begun to pick up the bits of information scattered about the room and am slowly getting the files in order once again. What is left of once a brilliant mind may be lost forever and a fear of the fans continues. I find solace in living where I do. The mountains are a comfort in themselves. They offer a feeling of returning to the womb. Thus, I write as schizoozy in Appalachia.
Schizoozy is a funny word. I found it while in college. You need to know that I attended East Tennessee State University in Johnson City , TN between the years of 1996 and 2000. I was 34 when I entered college that fall. Cultural and social diversity are the main things I learned there. The introduction to the music of Yo Yo Ma was part of that experience. I was studying the History of Appalachia when I came across his "Album of Appalachia." One of the songs was titled "Schizoozy" and it stuck with me all my remaining years in on form or other. Google it and listen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vguZmqHJ6OA&list=TLldMJIUC_QE8Z9RFPjpu5M5ms8Em3HFAM
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