So, since I've started blogging again (after a 2 year hiatus), my brain has been churning with a thousand ideas for posts... I have literally a dozen drafts started with 20 words here and 20 words there... and instead of writing on any of those... I am going to attach myself today to a meme I just discovered over at Figuring out how the Pieces fit, she had linked up with gypsy mama... and off I go. (Blog hopping is amazing! Oh the places I'll go!)
So this is a fun one! It's like raw writing... no editing, no perfectionism, no worries. Their most important requirement for participation: There’s really only one absolute, no ifs, ands or buts about it Five Minute Friday rule: you must
visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their
comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the
heart of this community. (Sounds like a community I would like to be a part of).
5 minutes - from the gut writing... on the word: GRASP
I stood still, wondering why my hand was closed on nothing.
I hold things too tightly. I sometimes think my intensity, my focus, my singular aim...
no. I don't think it's my fault. I don't know who is to blame.
So I held the ideal in my grasp. For just a moment. But it wasn't reality. It was a dream.
It was a work of fiction. I used to really not trust girls, other women.
I was on the boys water polo team and was a competitive swimmer. As far as team sports go, swimming is super independent. You have the benefit of a team without actually ever having to talk to or interact with them. You don't depend on them to help you win. They cheer you on, yell as your head sticks out of the water, pat you on the back when you pull yourself sopping wet from the water, chest heaving, looking for the clock to tell you who won, if you beat your best time, if you managed to pull it off.
The Water Polo team was just fun. Hanging out with a bunch of crude boys is fun for a teenage girl who was convinced that friends were temporary romances... and not something that you have forever. . .
As I got older, moved away from home, from my mom, from my sister (the only girls I ever trusted), got married and started a new job, in a new church... I longed to grasp, to hold onto with two hands, the ideal of friendship with women.
I pretended until I found it. I held with open hands most of my early friendships. I have a handful that became imbedded in my life, attached like bracelets around my wrists, binding themselves to me and I to them. Bridesmaids mostly. My sister, my cousin, a best friend, a "forever" friend or two.
But now I am 35 and I have finally experienced truly trusting someone (a girl!) and having her betray me, and I am a little angry at her... but mostly I am angry at me.
Angry that I grasped something that looked beautiful and innocent, but like a rose, as it was ripped from my grasp, it left me bleeding, and I should have seen it coming. I should have opened my hands. I should have never grasped tight. But I didn't know that in those hours of conversations, those hours of truth and vulnerability that they would ever be used as a weapon against me.
In my grasp? No. I guess not.
---> This writer has decided that writing raw is dangerous, it reveals my dark side. Sigh.
:) Too dark and depressing? Read this post from 18 months ago... it will make you giggle.