I put my prior post into draft form.
That was me thinking in a bone cold apartment without heat and with water that had just been turned back on, and I didn’t trust because Con Ed had been working on the sewer lines when they did something to cause a flood in our basement where I have so much stored.
Books, files, and chacka’s that have some importance to me, but obviously not too much or I’d have them up here. Most of the books can be replaced; the files are unimportant.
I just didn’t trust myself to throw them out; maybe someday some person will ask me about one of the papers. I’ll live; they’ll live.
No body’s asked yet; why have I always lived as if some authority is going to bust in demanding to see some
paper from 1991?
Short answer: I’m a CPA’s daughter and nobody in my family ever threw out anything.
Pity me, not was an exercise in self-indulgence.
We’re all entitled to that sometime. For a hot minute or two.
That was me at six PM or so with a fever and a head that felt like it wented to go to the desert now, or have a sinus transplant, actually that idea is appealing.
This is me with at one AM with five or six hours of sleep, a sore throat but a much clearer head.
That was me being petty, jealous and wanting revenge; only why?
I have a good life; with more than most people.
Perspective, something I usually have to spare, was totally lacking.
To let myself be drawn into pettiness is the ugly persona talking; the one that comes out when the apartment temperature is falling and the body fever is rising. It’s not reflective of all the other persona’s.
The ones that feel joy and happiness for other people.
The ones that believe in me, me, me.
And believes in other people too.
Those persona’s know that I can only grow and succeed when I’m happy for other people.
And keep on working to make myself, what?
Not perfect: that would be asking the impossible and would be insufferable.
Not never the bitch; that would be weird.
To make myself keep on working; bettering my writing; bettering my friendships.
To keep on striving, but under my terms; my way, whatever that is.
One person idolizes me; okay she’s ten and my niece-but she’s worth the world.
They’re going to Disneyworld (we hope–if her fever is gone, and her mom’s not sick–feels like everybody in New York has something.)
My sister wanted to eat in some restaurant where Cinderella comes and sits with you.
Fave niece said
“why, you know I’m not that type of girl?” And then she said the question I never dared asked, out loud at her age:
“what happens after the fairy tale is over?”
I who was never afraid to ask anything never dared asked that one. My parents would have loved it. But I didn’t want to ruin the illusion for my sister or any of our baby booming friends.
But my niece goes places I never dared go.
My niece was not yet three when Princess Diana died. Just yesterday morning I woke up thinking about her and how we finally did get to know how the fairy tales end.
My niece is growing up in a post Princess Diana, post 9/11 world. She will be forced to confront truths, I never had to think about. She already is thinking about them.
I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I just know that her reality will be so different from mine.
I hope she has even more opportunities than I have had–even if I feel like I sleep walked through half of them.
I hope she never loses the imagination that has led her to write her first novel, at ten. I’m editing it for her now.
I hope she never sees success or failure in black and white, or the amount of book deals she has, or anything like that.
I hope she treasures the people who love her; and doesn’t care what people think about her.
I hope she knows that while the world can be scary it can also be so awesome.
Pity me not for I have so much. I just want more. And I just might get it; then again I might not.
I might not get exactly what I asked for, but something entirely different. Maybe something much better.
I don’t know; that’s the beauty of life.
I had forgotten that for a minute.
Life never fails to surprise; and some of the time it really disapoints, or causes fear, or tragedy.
But some of the time, it’s a magnificent journey, and I feel so lucky to know that.
And to have a niece who hasn’t had her imagination tampered with yet; and can let out her truths, her fears, her wishes on paper.
She’s always reminded me of somebody; I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
She reminds me of the best of me.
May she always grow, and prosper in ways even she can’t imagine yet.
I have to go back to sleep; sometimes sleep is the only real medicine.
If people clamor for my pity part, part one, Pia the bitch from hell, I’ll put it back up.
But right now the bitch is gone; and I’m back.
The me who doesn’t define success the way most of the rest of America does.
The me who cares too much about how other people feel.
I can live with that flaw.
There’s so much else that I can say, but first some more sleep.
Thank you all, for all those hits.
I’m not above loving that; I’m only human or merely mortal as people say now.
This mere mortal still has, she hopes, a long way on her journey.
The drawn out journey really does teach.
And success is only a day away. Oh no, that’s Annie’s success.
My personal success can’t be measured in a Broadway show tune.
Maybe in Tom Waits’s lyrics; maybe in a beat I invent that’s all my own.
A beats that’s a little off-centered; a little eccentric; a little sort of cute; a little ditzy; and one hundred percent pure me.
I’m looking forward to it.