THE DISAPPEARING GIRL

Instagram photo by Cindy Maddera * Jun 5, 2016 at 5:07pm UTC

See this Instagram photo by @elephant_soap * 5 likes

I don't know what to write here any more. Or right now any way. I start something and then I shake my head and say to myself "You can't write that. You shouldn't write about that. No one cares." I feel like I've been holding onto a conversation that I keep meaning to have, but I've been holding it for so long now that I don't even know if it's a conversation worth having. Yet it is a conversation that keep poking me in the back of the brain. It's the kind of conversation whose voices sound an awful lot like those ones that tell me I am fat, untalented and stupid. And what's even worse is that some of those voices have the same tonal inflections as some people who claim to love me. That's probably a sentence I shouldn't write, but there you have it. This show has a few hecklers. 

Thursday morning, as I crossed over the Oklahoma/Kansas border, I noticed an abandoned rest stop on the east side of I-35. I told myself at that moment that I would stop at that old abandoned Oklahoma rest stop on my way home. I would stop and take pictures no matter what time of day it was or where the sun was in the sky. I am so much like my dad once I get behind the wheel of a car. I will drive and drive and drive and wish I'd stopped here, wish I'd stopped there. Never stopping. But as I hugged the Jens goodbye Sunday morning, I reminded myself that I was stopping at that rest stop. I made my way out of Oklahoma City and north toward Wichita and before I knew it, I could see that rest stop in the very near distance. I was only slightly dismayed to see a "road closed" sign blocking the entrance road. I parked my car as close to the sign as I could, making sure I was far enough off the interstate and then started walking. 

I don't think I ever realized how far off the highways and interstates rest stops really are. It makes sense to set it back from the highway. People would be getting out of cars and stretching their legs. Dogs would be running around, hopefully on leashes. Rest areas are basically parks on a highway. I walked up the cracked entrance road and felt the familiar Oklahoma wind on my face. The rest area was dotted with cement tables, each one under it's own teepee frame. The grass had grown up tall between the cracks of the sidewalks. The prairie was slowly reclaiming this bit of land. I adjusted my camera setting to accommodate the sun blazing down from a cloudless sky and I started taking pictures. I walked the sidewalk between picnic tables to the abandoned bathrooms and past the abandoned displays of Oklahoma history. The only thing that remained in one of the glass cabinets was a faded map of the state. As I made my way back to the car, I realized that those voices that tell me the mean things where no longer talking.  

I have yet to process those images. They're still sitting on the SD card in my camera. I know there's one in particular in that set that I'll want a print of. I know there's several that would make great postcards. But more importantly? I know I have some talent. I know I am not stupid and I know I am not fat. 

I NEED TO WRITE

02/366

"02/366"

I had an appointment with my massage therapist, Jeana, last Thursday. She's got a new bio-mat that fits the whole bed now. The bio-mat is warm and filled with amethyst crystals and magical powers (not really). Jeana is also filled with magical powers. She knew just by looking at me that I had been on a road trip because one hip was higher than the other, which she addressed but this is about my hands. She does this thing where she pulls my fingers back towards my elbows and massages my palms. This time when she did it, I wanted to come off the table and karate chop it. At the same time, a voice in my head screamed "I NEED TO WRITE!"

When she moved on, I was left with those words echoing around in my brain. What the fuck was that?!? Yeah, I mean, I know I need to write. I've got unfinished business, but it's unfinished because I'm lazy and apathetic. But this voice wasn't telling me I needed to do this because I need to do this. It was more of an internal primal need, like needing to pee. It was an urgent shout of need. If you would have handed me a pen and paper, I would have just gone to town writing a bunch of jibberish. Then, just like that, the voice was quite and I set the thought aside. I went on as normal. Then on Saturday, as we were driving to the sledding park, Michael was talking about something. I don't remember what he said, but something in the middle of my chest screamed "I NEED TO WRITE!" and it was so forceful that I felt my breath catch. I mentally slammed my heart back into my chest and told it to "shut up!"

Sure, I get it. I really really really need to finish something I've started. I know this. I'm just struggling with time. I know this sounds like a cop out, but really I have so many little side projects going. Besides keeping up with the blog, I'm taking pictures for my 365 Day Selfie project and my 365 Day Happiness project. I've carved out fifteen minutes in the mornings for meditation. Then there's work, where instead of taking a lunch break, I walk and get on my yoga mat. I eat a quick lunch at my desk before heading off to the next task. Once I'm home there's dinner to be made and people and animals that need my attention and TV to watch. Then when I finally have a moment, I am easily distracted with Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and who said what where. 

I am sure this sounds familiar to many of you. I'm sure you all struggle with some version of the above. I just remembered that some time soon I need to do my taxes and I really need to sit down and create a spreadsheet of credit card debt. See? There's too much. How am I supposed to get the things done that I am supposed to get done and still have time to do the things I want to do? I remember the first time I sat down to write out my Life List and how it took forever because I kept putting things on the list that I should do. Practical things, like get photos organized. Which, by the way, I need to sit down and re-work that list because my life is different. I'll tell you what I need. I need to channel Benjamin Franklin. How did he do it?!?

All I know is that I better figure out something or I'm going to look like a crazy person walking around telling myself to shut up. 

IN MY HEAD, ZOMBIES

Meter maze

"Meter maze"

It's the first day of NaNoWriMo and I'm staring at a blank screen. I have a story. I do. I just don't know where that story is going or how it's going to end. This is when the voices start talking in my head. "What do you think you're doing? You are not a writer. You are a scientist. You have no idea what you are doing." The voices are mostly right. I am a scientist and I have no idea what I am doing. I mean, my biggest excuse for not going on from my Masters to get my PhD was that I didn't want to write papers and grant proposals. I have no business pretending and that's what this feels like sometimes. I'm pretending to be creative. I'm sure Chris is out there somewhere thinking "how cute, she thinks she can write." Which makes him sound condescending. We had our places. He was the creative. I was the cheerleader. That's just how it was. The voices in my head tell me that Chris would make fun of these creative efforts even though I know he would never. 

I look at the blank page again and say to myself "1,666.7 words." That's all I have to do a day. That's a lot I have to do a day. I type a few paragraphs, thinking "this isn't so hard." Like I said. I have a story, but when I select all and do a word count it only comes up with 643 words. Is that all? Gah. 1,666.7 words is more than I thought. I plug on. Typa, typa typa. I pause to pat the dogs head. I take a break to shove the cat away from walking across the keyboard. I get 1,325 words and I call it a night. It's late (for me). I'm tired. My right foot has fallen asleep and prickles as I place it flat on the floor. 1,325 words will have to be enough for today, but when I lay my head down on the pillow, the story keeps playing in my head. I should add that there. I should explain this here. I should tell this part next. Now the voices in my head are those of the characters in the story. I have to tell them to be quiet so I can go to sleep, but I'm woken up a few hours later by the sounds of war outside. 

I stumble out of bed and peek out into the living room. Michael is sitting on the couch, excitedly shoving popcorn into his mouth. He sees me and asks "What's up?" My reply comes in the confused look on my face. He says "Are you wondering about the gunfire and fireworks happening outside? Don't worry. That's the sound of World Championship in Kansas City." The Royals have won the World Series (the Cabbage used to call it the World Serious).  Michael was nine or ten the last time this happened. It's been thirty years. He is beyond pleased. I mumble a "Happy Birthday" before stumbling back to bed. Michael's birthday is in a few weeks. Back in bed. Head on the pillow. The voices return. This time it's a blend of the bad voices mixed with those from the story. I focus on the sounds coming from the neighborhood. I hear more popping sounds of fireworks or gunshots or both. I hear people yelling. At least I stop listening to the voices in my head and fall back asleep. 

I wake up the next morning and the only voice I hear is the one saying "1,666.7 words. That's all you have to do."

That's all I have to do. Today.