I wonder if I'll stop dreaming of the future.... as if I'm some teenager who has a whole life ahead of her, instead of being some thick, middle-aged woman who should be embracing what has been accomplished, celebrate in some of it, now...save for some recreation time, travels and nice presents for self and future enjoyments. Why am I so work-obsessed? To whom am I proving what? Why do I care about every damn detail and making sure all is as it should roll out under some master plan, which in reality never turns out to match a distorted and fantasy-filled vision? I wonder if I'll come to terms with the reality of my life as it exists today, accepting "what is," instead of strategizing ways for constant improvement?

Do we stop living if we "pause" and stop the madness briefly, and reflect on where we've been... enjoy some moments and not think so damn much? Why is it that I fear I'll die if I do that? Will I stagnate to pause? I am afraid to accept things as they are....imperfect as they are. Instead, I find myself trying to live up to some high standards that I have invented in my imagination...so high and impossible, seems. No wonder I'm never content with present day situations. Dare I ever pause?

It is lonely among hourdes of unwashed people... this overpopulated planet of bizzy, bizzy, bizzy stuff. There are so few connections of the heart. This hurts me so desperately at my core. It is such a basic psychological want and need to "be understood"... but who can anyone ever trust to let in? I mean REALLY trust? Can a heart that has endured life for 43--sheesh, almost 44 years--ever ACCEPT and BELIEVE that someone could be trustworthy, or trust me back... or love deeper than the obvious level of shallow, or LET ME IN? Nahhhhhhhhh. For I am the only Giver of Goodness, methinks... and it is in my hubris and ego and bigheadedness that I feel I am THE ONLY ONE who has the intellectual and spiritual ability to CARE about all God's children.... to want to make a difference, to make life a pursuit of goodness, to see my flaws and attempt to correct....cyclically, failing over and over and picking myself up, brushing off knees. The ridiculous hopelessness of hope that seems to never get the reward...if there is one. And maybe it's just the journey we should enjoy, not seeking gold at the end of some stupidass rainbow.

I sound like some freak hippy. But I've been thinking how the very things I want in life are the very things STILL not yet held....or maybe, just maybe, I deny myself in some perverse way, as if I'm not good enough. Perhaps this is why I write fiction and keep journals and diaries, veils of the truths of my heart's wishes. For that's alllll that they are... heart's wishes and truths of the heart, but not of the world.

When the tinman got his heart, the scarecrow his diploma, and the lion his badge of courage, Dorothy said to the Wizard, "I don't think there's anything in that black bag for me..." She is me.
For now, at least. Yet, this hope remains, this inborn faith that will not quit. I just wonder if things will one day come true before I'm using a cane and drooling and can't recognize that I've arrived.

I don't expect this blog entry to make sense. This is therapeutic writing....just for me. Sometimes a blog serves such a purpose. I might later pause on it.

Hope you are enjoying the start of a good 2009. I have much to sort out still in my life.... not that I'm unhappy, you see...just, that's all.