I'm not an only child.....

Jan 07, 2020 13:25

... I just act like one sometimes!

I have two siblings,
one 5 years older,
the other 10 years older...

I might as WELL have been an only child...

One of the ways it comes out
is my *need* for privacy.
Closed doors between me and other people,
to focus,
to concentrate,
to make messes
only I have to deal with.

I did not learn to focus
in a house full of siblings
whooping and snooping,
I had alone time... and lots of it.

Reading in bed quietly,
playing with dolls by myself...
at my house only one friend would come over at a time,
unless it was a once or twice a year party.
I'd visit friend's houses,
it was fun and easy to hang with their family,
but I could go HOME to work
where it was quiet.

It might be hard to notice,
I'm an extrovert,
but for focus,
I need to be alone.

Doors closed against Others.

My messes are MINE.
Do not intrude,
do not ask questions
until I am DONE

I half-snarl
while trying to hide my embarrassment
at snarling
AND being embarrassed
at working AND snarling
AND being embarrassed.

HA!

I hate exposing undone things...
No, don't look at what I'm MAKING...
you can only see what I've MADE.

[HIDEY HOLE]
Sailor says I like being "mysterious".
A grand reveal
of the thing
I never told you I was doing
ALL ALONG!
But it's not secrets,...
I like...
I'm AWFUL at secrets
(well MY secrets at least!)
it's the ugliness of unfinished.
It's the mess of cleaning.
The hazard of making anew.

The way to sell sausage
is to hide how it's made.

Don't put the meat grinder out on the front counter,
feeding it haunches
across the counter
while casually asking,
"Want some??"

No.

Non-starter.

I need room.... to be my own mess
AND to hide that mess
so as not to confuse,
or abuse you with it.

I am protective of my mess,
I splatter paint...
and that paint needs protected from me
and you need protected from the paint
but I do not need protected
so I stay there,
wet and dripping
covered in my own mess...
and growl for you to go away,
"NOTHING TO SEE HERE!"
and really... there plenty to see,
just
not for YOU to see.
Your appetite will shrink
when you see how I make
the things I make.

Beliefs. Opinions.
Items. Art.
Space. Comfort.
When I am dreaming,
I will talk of it.
I will show you the general shape.

If I am actively making it,
YOU ARE NOT INVITED
until it's done.
Be it my resume,
or a necklace
I want to do it
ALONE.
The mental silence,
is a part of my process.

It's not all self-protection,
it's not all hackles
out of fear or embarrassment...
(although there is that)


There IS another side...
my EXTROVERSION.
That big part of me
that cannot ignore other people.

If people are around,
I will talk,
I will interact,
I will exchange,
and my focus will be on them.
Will be WITH them.

That is the other side of my closed door.
My privacy
allows me privilege
to put my mind
where I want it to go.

Break it, with questions or concern
in the middle of the process...
I am THERE...
I am WITH YOU...
manglged amongst my mess
and unable to do anything about it
until you leave
closing the door
on your way out
and also leaving me MENTALLY.
Don't even THINK of me,
I will feel you.
You need to be SOMEWHERE ELSE
so I can go SOMEWHERE ELSE.

But when I am focusing,
and the unexpected arrives,
I just might be
Shattered...

I was focusing... I could see the path out..
or I was working on it.
My human will
cleaves to human will
and all former private paths
fall away, forgotten.
Lost halfway through a song,
I had JUST been singing.
How to find that thread I was chasing,
before some pleasant human
rained down on me,
pulling my mind from its hard-won vantage point.

Crumbling the moment of now
I was having with myself
and now it all seems
abstract,
I can't see the tightrope anymore,
lost in the change of vantage point...
when before
I saw next perfect step,
clearly,
felt it,
totally.

Focus can be regained,
but it was not maintained...
and inside I
grind a feeling
for at least a moment... going...
"What the hell, yo??"

Even though it is NOBODY'S fault.

Anyone else?

Bueller?
Bueller?

Being human is HILARIOUS.

writing, myself

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