I have been angry for some time now. Last night my anger stared me in the face and said, “let me go.” So, I started asking myself what it is that I’m so angry about. I didn’t have an answer until this morning. I guess I needed to sleep on it. I had been thinking absently about what it might be that has me so pissed off…but nothing rang quite true enough. Either that or I wasn’t being honest enough with the one person I lie to the most…myself. Why is that, I wonder…we lie to ourselves more than anyone else. It isn’t really because it’s easy…if we are honest with ourselves we know it isn’t. If I find the answer I’ll be sure to put it down in black and white for the world to read. Possibilities like my job or inheriting my temper from Dad and the temptation to blame it on my husband have all been floating somewhere in my head. Those are the easy explanations…easy but all wrong. I got to work today…hello corporate world…in my pinstripes and heels, sat down at my desk and got a little irritated. I checked my email and posted a few thoughts on the book club site. Then I decided to revisit some of the contents of the site that I have been angry that no one visits, while hypocritically neglecting them myself. There was a link to the weblog of one of my favorite writers. I hadn’t been there in months and was curious about her. Once there, as her words have always had a way of doing, she reminded me. why. i. was. so. angry.

I’m too busy. I don’t have enough time for the things that really matter. My accounting job is causing my left brain to take over my ambidextrous life. I’m losing myself in my career. All of this went through my head in some order. Still, none of it worked this time. Something long dormant instantly sounded a morning alarm in my mind. Something shook me awake. Me. That’s the key. The missing key. I am. Who? Aha! I am. Missing. My. Life. It is no one else’s fault. It can’t be. I’m not a prisoner by any means but my own. Too tired. Too scared. Which? Too Scared. Too many damn excuses for missing my life. Today I remembered. Who. I. Am.

I. Am. A. Writer.

I. Am. A. Gardener.

I. Am. A. Witch.

I. Am A. Creator. Of. Worlds.

And I have been asleep.

So, this weblog marks my beginning again. My waking. Make the time or there will be no time. Use it or lose it. That’s what they say. So, this will be my new foundation. My outlet and my factory.

I. Will. Write.

Even if no one is listening. I will be listening. I will be awake. Who was I so angry with? Me. It frustrating trying to wake someone up that won’t revive. It’s downright aggravating when you repeatedly try to make someone hear you that isn’t listening. No wonder I was so angry. I never listened to myself. I haven’t for a very long time. It’s time to prioritize. I choose being who I am as my highest priority. That will make all my other goals and priorities possible. Someone once told me that a writer writes, not because s/he wants to, but because s/he has no choice. For a very long time I thought that meant that I was not a true writer. I can’t get myself to sit down and write, so I must not have it in me. I was missing the point. Whether or not I have been putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, I have been writing in mind all along. That’s a lot of mental build-up with no outlet. I finally understand what they mean. Writing is my birth. It’s like breathing. You can hold your breath but not for long. And if you do hold it for too long, your mouth bursts open in an outward explosion followed by an immediate and violent intake of all the air around you. If I don’t write, it can be devastating to my own health and that of those around me. I finally get it. I remember. I’m not angry anymore. I am.

The TV can wait.

The kitchen can wait.

The spreadsheets can all wait.

Five minutes.

It’s time to be who I am.

It is time to write.

Something.

Anything.

Now.