Saturday, October 09, 2010

Vulnerability

Yep, that's me, Ms Vulnerable — stop laughing!

Geese, you guys don't give me a chance. How come no one knows me the way I knows me?

Silly question. No one else has had to put up with 70 years of emotional trauma and unequivocal certainty the way I have had to. Now, I'm not suggesting that ya'll have not had these experiences. I'm just saying that my version is unique just as your's is unique.

I do superwoman really well. Mild mannered, well coiffed, a bit pudgy, smiling except when thinking about whatever is seriously commanding my attention; soft spoken, well behaved and then suddenly this massively self centered, wise, outspoken, loud, extremist steps out of the phone booth (probably the bathroom) and takes over the whole damn room.

'What about me?' No, that's my friend Linda's mantra.

My superpersona doesn't bother to ask. She simply takes over and manufactures a mix of hybrid mayhem unseen since the last time she felt compelled to solve the problems of her little pond in the middle of the great big morass.

My editor says I have to be vulnerable. What kind of nonsense is that? I'd never let you know that I even cry when you tell me, 'no.' Ok, so when's the last time you dared.

I know, I know ‚— I'm the Queen and you'd better not forget it. There is one version of the story and it's mine. Yours doesn't count. How ever am I supposed to be a writer of unique experiences if I have to tell the stories from someone else's point of view?

I am confused. I want to be published. My editor says I can't get published unless I'm vulnerable. I'm not.

Oh, I have tears, but you'll never see em. Unless we are watching some kind of ATT commercial about little kittens in the middle of busy highways and small children running out to rescue them from oncoming traffic. But that's not real.

I never cry when it's real. At least I don't ever cry when it's real in front of anyone else. What would they think — the Queen with runny eyeliner? You've got to be kidding.