'Side B' of me

I regret that I haven't posted a new blog post in two weeks. But the fact that I am guilt-ridden by this fact shows that I still have a heart for my blog and would never abandon it. After all, I'd be going about my business from day to day, thinking of it just sitting there, in the vast ocean of the world wide web, with some random thought or another the last snapshot my mind for readers to hang onto like the crumbling facade of a cliff. I don't like unfinished things, they hover behind me like a deep-black shadow in the broad summer sun, or a stalking pit bull always staying one corner behind you as you walk alone. And a blog, in my belief anyway, can never be completely finished. Even if it's a blog about something specific like say, the remodeling of your historic house, or about your penchant for food or clothing, or bargain hunting. There's always going to be something more, something new, something fresh that comes to you like discovering a new dish at the buffet three tables away just when you're about to put your plate down. I've been running my blog for two years now, and I hope to continue it for another ten! Invariably when I transfer to UW-Green Bay in the fall I'll be more time strapped because I'll be attending full-time, verses part-time at UW-Sheboygan, but I'll make time, and if ideas are hard to come by, I can always fall on the old write whatever comes to mind trick, or post a random poem. Of course you all know that I already write whatever comes to mind, but usually it comes to mind a few days or weeks in advance. Like today!

The truth is, I actually have two pressing issues to talk about, both of which have nothing to do with the other. Or do they? I guess when I post one this week and one the next, you'll have to decide that for yourself! One of the issues isn't so much a pressing issue as it is one that I feel compelled to write about so you, the reader, can understand me better as a person. The other issue on the other hand, is a pressing one. It stems from a conversation had between my fellow students and professor in my American Lit. class on certain Sears commericals depicting Dad's as the stupefied parent hapless at what to do for supper for the kids because his wife is gone. I got into a mini tangent with my Mom over that - she agreed with me that they are completely ludicrous - but I'll leave that for next week! For today, I'll talk about the first issue. The one that refers to the title of today's post.

As most of you have probably figured out from my writing, I love metaphors and similes. The more I can come up with the happier I am! Of course, like my Dad and some of my professors and teachers have warned me, there's a point you reach where such things become overbearing and actually take away from your writing, rather than add to it, but I try to limit myself, even when they pour forth like old faithful spouting forth from the earth.

Don't we all have a side to ourselves that we are fully aware of but others may not even know exists? Think of it as an old tape sitting in a neglected tape deck, where only one side has been played. The other side remains a mystery, an artifact to when all music was on tapes. Each song is like a gravestone, marking the artist's hard work and dedication gone to waste. All your life you drive your car, singing along to that single side of the tape, never turning it over, just letting it collect dust like old books lining a bookshelf, their sole purpose to fill up space attractively, rather than feed the mind and enlighten those who see its words for what they are.

Okay, okay, before I go into overload, let me stop. I refer to that side of myself that no one else knows about as side B. That side of the tape that never gets played, or is only played when the house is silent and no one is watching. It's that side where we can truly become ourselves. Side A just might be covers of songs covered by a million other people throughout history, or perhaps a cluster of songs everyone is sure to love, rather than that rare, beautiful song that you love but know wouldn't appeal to the masses. Granted, not all of us adapt ourselves to what society wants. Hell, none of us should! Because you'd be destined for disappointment in doing so. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that, sometime that side A of ourselves is nothing more but a glossy veneer of slick production songs meant only for radio and inserted like poison from a needle with a catchy tune and hollow lyrics meant to stick in your head like bugs in a spiderweb. Whereas side B of ourselves is that true, honest collection of songs where we truly let the song be ours and feel every lyric, rather than just mindlessly singing what we know the world wants. Instead we sing our own song not caring if the world doesn't accept it, because we accept it.

So, you might be thinking, what is this side B to me? Well, let me enlighten you! Although it may seem hard to believe, very few people in my high school class knew that I loved writing. Granted, it didn't truly take off until after high school, but I still wrote during my high school years, and considered myself a writer. Why didn't I tell anyone you asked? Well for one, I didn't talk to a whole lot of people in my graduating class. I felt I didn't truly fit in anywhere, like that stray jigsaw puzzle piece you find on the basement floor, the one with the bland blue color that doesn't seem to fit in with any puzzle you happen upon. That doesn't mean I didn't - and don't - have friends, because I do. They're just slim pickings. Which is fine by me. I believe you don't need a whole gaggle of friends to be happy. One or two is enough in my opinion!

But that's not the only reason. For me, writing has always been a very personal thing. Some of my stories I would prefer to keep marooned on my laptop, not letting anyone see them. Why? It's not because I write about erotic things. Although there's a genre for that, I steer clear of it, having a feeling of repulsion towards anything of the like. It has more to do with the simple fact that I feel extremely close to any story I write, and knowing that other people are let in on that secret world I've created on paper, the characters I've sketched out of nothing and brought to life, is slightly disturbing for me. It's almost as if I'm in the story itself, and feel like its my life being judged when they read it. Which is partly true. I mean, any author inserts themselves in a story or poem. Whether it be in a character, or a few characters, the story setting, the plot, an outside character, morals, ambitions, physical characteristics of the character...and the list goes on. I know I invariably create many characters of my own that are very similar to myself. I'm not sure if that's a problem or not, but come to think of it, I don't think it is. It's a unique opportunity I think, to be able to place a character much like yourself in a life that is completely unlike your own, in a place far away from anyplace you've visited. As Scarlett Johannson put it, "I write because my own life is so boring." Of course, not to disgrace my life and it's general, mundane, day-to-day happenings but, I'll be the first to admit, it's not all that exciting, but nevertheless I love it and treasure every day for it's methodical occurrences.

Obviously writing is a huge part of me, probably the biggest part of me you'll ever have to rip off of the carcass and chew the fat of, but what about other aspects of my side B? Well, I can start by letting you in on some of my secret fashion likings. One of which include top hats. Yes, you heard me right. Top hats. Why do I like them? I have no idea, honestly! I just think they look cool, and paired with a "suit-like" dress and thigh-high boots like the outfit Shania Twain wore in her music video for her song Man I Feel Like A Woman, would be a killer outfit I wish I had the guts to wear. That's another thing, I love thigh-high boots, even though I've never worn boots higher than my knee. This leads into my love for high heels, even though I've never worn a heel taller than say...three inches or so. Although, and I know it doesn't really count, I tried on a pair of killer five-inch heels at Kohl's a couple months ago and instantly felt like belting out the previously mentioned Shania Twain song. I felt powerful, more of a woman than ever before, and I'll admit I even felt...sexy. That word feels strange to my ears, like walking into a classroom and hearing your fellow classmates speaking rapid-fire in some exotic language. It just doesn't seem to fit with who you are. But I said it, and I definitely felt it. Maybe someday I'll pick up a pair of heels and see what the reaction will be. Although first, I'll have to learn how not to fall over, but hey, I'll be a good five inches taller, which considering the fact that I'm 5ft 2, is only an added bonus too tantalizing to pass up.

I've also acknowledged my love for clothing design. Sometimes my creative side - my huge, dominating, sometimes over-bearing and all together consuming creative side :) - needs an outlet that satisfies it better than any story, poem, graphic design stint on the computer, or well placed photograph outside can supply. So it turns to clothes. When it comes to what I wear everyday, I'll admit, my clothes are like the personality I display to everyone...everyday and easily passed over. I don't want that to come out cynical but it's the truth. Sometimes I'll spot that snappy little skirt with the bright colors or a elegant, floral print dress perfect for summer and think...I really like that! But either the price will be wrong or I'll instantly start thinking of what other people will think. See, I'm not the type that yearns for attention. I'm more than happy traveling the fringes like that one lone, horse on a carousel different from all the others that never gets ridden. Sometimes I'll get a mental image of a dress I could design, and then imagine myself posing in that dress/shirt or whatever. I'm also not the type to be on the receiving end of the camera. I'd rather be behind the lenses, taking the shot, rather than the focus of that black, unblinking eye. Or other times I'll think of an antique necklace I could design, and imagine myself wearing it with something daring that I would never assume I'd wear but find myself buying. I knew if I ever followed - or follow - through with these mental pictures
and move them beyond the confines of my imagination, my friends and family alike won't know the person staring back at them from Adam. Because why? Because such things are the side B of me. That side of the tape I refuse to play for anyone but myself. Sure, it comes out in my writing, but in the form of fictional characters. It's like a buffer of sorts. That medium I can channel this side of myself through, in order to avoid a full on confrontation like blasting my favorite Shania Twain song when my brother comes home with his friends. That's another thing, when I'm home alone, I'll crank my music to the highest level, feeling a sort of release within me, but as soon as my parents or brother come home? I turn it down to a respectable level because I know I'm playing that side B of myself loud and clear, even if it's a song they've heard a thousand times before.

We all have that side B of ourselves. Some of us switch the tape back and forth so many times that those all around us know it by heart, and gladly sing along, while others, like me, only play that one side, leaving the other for ourselves, in the confines of imaginary or physical lines. Whatever your side B is, perhaps you see yourself in me, or perhaps its something completely different. Someday I imagine myself turning that tape over and taking the steps to turn those metal images into reality. No doubt I'll have some explaining to do, but I'm sure as I play that tape over and over again, they'll all come to understand it as much as side A. After all, I would still be me wouldn't I? It'd just be a different side of me.