Write Me Up

Official writing with some random thoughts

No answers. March 9, 2015

Filed under: General Blog-tastic Writings — Dorothy Lynn @ 11:06 pm
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So. Writing. Writing writing writing. Wriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiting.
I have to make some decisions.
I want to write so badly. I want to be that person who writes things that inspire people to see the world in a new and better way. I want to write but I work and eat and sleep and invest in kids’ lives and give piano lessons and cook and go hung and fishing and watch tv and so many other things and I’m so tired at the end of the day that I don’t even know how to get back into my projects.
But they are all still there, living in my head, begging to be told and shared. I think of that moment when I knew I wanted to share these stories, sitting in a plaza in Toledo, Spain, across from the centuries old cathedral, watching people and thinking about the dream I had the night before that was so vivid and colorful and full of promise. But now I live in a place that is just as beautiful and complex and interesting, but I am so occupied with working and my boss wants me to get my teaching license which means taking education classes and going in a completely different direction and investing time in something that, even if I am great at it, I really don’t want to be my lifetime career.
So, dilemma.
Also my life is falling apart a little right now, but that’s a different story.

I just have no answers and I don’t know anything anymore. All the philosophers would say that is a good start but philosophers were all silly. Smart, and right about things, but stuck in their heads. So, no answers means no answers and no answers.

Any suggestions? Or words of wisdom?

My friends made me a blanket fort to help a little…and let’s be honest, blanket forts are always awesome.

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Part Three May 17, 2013

Filed under: General Blog-tastic Writings — Dorothy Lynn @ 10:41 pm
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“You know when you see something so beautiful that you can’t breathe? It’s like an asthma attack, but not in your lungs. Deeper than that.”

“Of course. Like when you cry because you are happy.”

“No, more than that. It’s when you want to cry, but you can’t because it is too lovely. It means too much. And it’s not happy at all. Beauty doesn’t mean happy. It just–it pricks something else inside of you. Not inside, exactly, because it is all around too. That’s why it is hard to breathe when it happens, because it presses from the inside and the outside, at the same time, but just for a moment.”

“I’m not sure. That kind of sounds like emotions to me.”

“Well…yes. And no.”

‘So, do you mean like when you see a gorgeous sunset or listen to a good song?”

“No. Those are beautiful, but too tangible. This only happens with complicated, tangled-up beauty. Like when you read the old stories where someone dies and you are sad, but they had a purpose and it was beautiful. See, but explaining it trivializes it. It is SO much more!”

“But, what’s the point, Sophie? Why does it matter?”

“Because. It matters. Those moments are the only moments when it doesn’t hurt. Even though I can’t breathe, I feel connected. Connected to that other part of myself. The part that takes over when I have my fits. The part that is dying. It isn’t dying in those moments. It is part of me.”

“Sophie, there is no other part of you. Those moments are beautiful, and we all experience something like that occasionally, though it manifests itself differently for each person. But the fits are not connected to that. The fits are physical. And experiencing beauty is emotional. Nothing more.”

“How do you know that? How do you know, without any doubt, that there isn’t another part of me? Nothing else makes sense, and I can feel it. During my fits I can see it. It is outside of emotional and physical.”

“I know you feel that way, but if you can’t admit there is a delusion, you will never stop the fits.”

“This isn’t helping. How can you help me if you won’t believe me? You ask me to explain what I feel during my fits, and I am explaining, but if you don’t believe me, how can I fix it? Why won’t anyone believe me? Why can’t anyone SEE it? Why am I here? What is the point?”

“Sophie, calm down. Let’s take a break, okay? I will try to believe you, but I won’t indulge in your delusions. Just take a deep breath.”

“But I can’t, don’t you see? Breathing doesn’t MATTER anymore! I am dying and you are dying, and we are all dying. I can start to see it now. You are covered with it. You are smoldering! My hands are covered with it. All of my skin is covered. Yours too! It’s–you–how can you not SEE it? How?? It’s burning! It’s burning!”

“Nurse, I need some sedatives in here, quickly please.”

 

The doctor calmly lowered herself to the floor and held Sophie’s head in her lap as she waited for the nurse to come with the sedatives. Sophie convulsed in a seizure, but still muttered unintelligibly about burning, red things and dying. The doctor took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This was one of the worst cases she had seen. How can a normal girl go from being calm and coherent and intelligent one second, to this in the next? What is happening?