I don’t remember a time before I could read.
Not that I’m so freakin’ brilliant, just that my memory sucks, and doesn’t, in weird, horrible and wonderful ways.
I’ve spent a substantial part of my life reading. Always have. Hopefully always will.
I started dancing with the muse just as I became a teenager. I have what is termed a severe sequential processing deficit in regards to language, math and other linear processes. The person who tested me figured the reason my language skills were so wonky is that I memorized the English language because the structure behind it was, is, incomprehensible. Good for vocabulary, bad for diagramming and grammar. Guess I just didn’t have enough words at my fingertips before I was 13 to be able to form a sentence that could actually convey some deeper meaning.
The first poem I remember writing was about/to a boy named Danny. He had brown curly hair and one blue eye and one green. He was my first hard crush that I got to act on.
I wrote a lot through high school. Even attended a program for it in between regular high school and work.
Writing gave me a place to dump all my thoughts and feelings so they didn’t all come oozing out through my ears.
So many things to process.
During college I was busy writing other things and didn’t have time for anything other than the occasional poem. As a history major, if you learn nothing else, you at least learn how to bang out the pages.
After college came kids and when they were little I was so busy figuring out how to be a mother there was no brain space for anything else. Not even me.
As they aged I picked up the composition book and pen again. Brought dreams and nightmares to life and talked with friends old and new about writing again.
There have been some very major changes/life events in the last few years, but here I still am. Figuring it out on my own and not feeling especially successful at the moment but still moving forward even if sometimes I take the long way around.
Words are the only thing that have always been there. Whether my own or another’s.
I string words across the page and try to bring order to my chaos.
Welcome to the journey.
It’s nice to have some company.
