« April 2006 | Main | June 2006 »
May 29, 2006
A beautiful day
I love Rehoboth beach. We went today, just for the day. And it was as wonderful as always.
If I'm going to sit on the beach, I actually prefer Bethany. But the little town of Rehoboth, i can't get enough of it. No matter what time of year it is, I love to be there. It used to be a ghost town off-season, but now it is open pretty much all year round. Shops with interesting and beautiful things to see, cafes heavy with the aroma of coffee and the hushed tones of deep discussions, candy shops that smell like buttery caramel corn and cocoa powder. The salty breeze, person after person on the sidewalk with sand on their ankles and the tops of their feet, shoes in hand.
I don't know why, but the feeling and the energy of the town is so inspirational to me. It is really liberating. Maybe it's because you don't really choose to spend a lot of time in Rehoboth if you get offended easily. Not like it's a complete den of iniquity, but there are just enough gay couples to make it really uncomfortable as a vacation spot for really judgemental Christians. And those (the latter) are some of my least favorite people in all the world. I can sense when I am within a one mile radius of one. I suddenly get the feeling that a really scary overweight, middle-aged white man in a suit and wingtips is standing behind me, ready to whack me over the head with a 2 by 4. And if two or more judgemental Christians gather together within a one mile radius of me, I sense it and have to pop a few xanax to be able to breathe.
I'm not saying that if homosexuality makes you feel uncomfortable, you are a judgemental Christian. I am saying, however, that my spirit prefers a place where there is more acceptance than not. And a lot of times those are places where really judgemental people don't want to hang out. To clarify, there are other kinds of spiritual feelings that make me feel really uncomfortable and bad....like really flagrantly perverted stuff that is meant to offend. But people, no matter who they are, just trying to live and make their way in this world, not trying to hurt anyone... gay, straight, Christian, non..... a lot of times that is the impression I have of people when I am in Rehoboth. Other people may have a different experience. But this is mine. And I love the freedom in that.
I am trying to figure out who I am as opposed to who I think I should be. i guess it's about time...I'm 31. But it's not an easy task. I'm trying to weed through all of the perceptions I have about myself and figure out which opinions are really mine, which beliefs, which values, which convictions. And I have discovered that for a lot of my life, I have been ashamed of how accepting I long to be of people. I have been ashamed that I have not wanted to tell other people that they are wrong, that they are in sin. I have "erred" in my heart on the side of compassion triumphing over judgement, trying to understand why someone is where they are instead of just speaking in terms of right versus wrong... I have believed that this is not truly love, but fear of speaking the "truth."
I guess at this point, I don't know enough about anything to tell anyone the truth about anything. But I do know that I really, really want someone to fill this empty, unfillable, insatiable lonliness deep within me. And when I see people, I can see (for the most part, unless it seems like someone is just plain evil and wants to be evil) that we are all just trying to fill that emptiness the best way we know how. Maybe it's not common for most people to feel this way, but I totally with all my heart understand why people are drawn to any substance or opportunity that might offer the hope of feeling somehow better. You better believe that I am tempted to ease my pain so desperately that if I was in the "wrong" place at the "wrong" time, I fear that I would not be able to walk away from temptation. Of any kind. Just being honest with myself, and with you.
But back to Rehoboth...I love it. And today was a day of hanging out in a great place with some of my favorite friends/family. And i just wanted to say that it was a beautiful day.
Posted by darby on 10:43 PM | Comments (12)
May 26, 2006
Playing Tonight
I just got home from the benefit...and I played four songs.
I am glad to report that for the first time ever in public, my hands weren't shaking when I played. I did have a few moments when I completely forgot the next chord, the next words...but at least my hands weren't shaking. This might not seem like a huge deal, but to me it is very monumental, because trying to play the piano with fingers that are unable to stay where you put them, well, it's not easy. It's just scary.
And it just makes everything get progressively worse. Cause I see myself shaking, and I make mistakes cause I can't keep my fingers on the right notes, and then I get more nervous, then my hands shake more, then I make more mistakes, then the keyboard looks unfamiliar altogether. . . .
But not tonight.
I don't think my voice was shaking either. I'd say I felt more comfortable while I was playing than I ever have before. I did, however, experience the nagging "You sucked and everyone wanted you to shut up the whole time you were up there" voice that usually haunts me after I play, talk, or do anything in front of anyone. But to tell you the truth, I am so happy that I wasn't shaking that I don't even care if it sucked. I am just ecstatic that it's even possible for me to perform without shaking. I really hope this wasn't a one time thing. I hope my hands and voice never shake again.
My sister Merry was there and I was so glad she was. She was singing along to the one old song I sang (End of You)...just like a real fan! Thanks, Mer!!
The benefit was also an auction, and I bid on some horseback riding lessons for Lyric, and I won them. So at the end, the names of the winners were read, and people had to come up to the front of the church to collect the paper describing what they had one. Maybe I was just excited that I performed without debilitating anxiety, or maybe I had had too much coffee, but when they called my name for winning the horseback riding lessons, I was overtaken and started galloping to the front of the room.
Why?
I have no idea, honestly. I think I lost my mind for a minute. But it was too late, by the time I realized I was galloping, I was almost to the front of the room. But not completely to the front of the room, unfortunatley. Because at some point while I was still galloping, I tripped. Not as badly as I could have...I caught myself....I didn't fly forward and land on my face. I tripped enough to make the ridiculous galloping look suddenly pitiful. Then i really lost it. I got really loud and laughed, "Whoa! I almost landed on my face!" Thinking all the while, what the @#$* are you doing? where is your brain and what insane horse has taken over your body? what possessed you to think that galloping was a good idea? galloping alone in front of a large group of silent people=NOT COOL. Possibility of turning it into something cool at any point midgallop= 0%.
Then I heard Merry cackling from across the room. With the look that I have seen a million times throughout my life. The look that says, "I'm laughing partially because it's funny and partially because I feel completely sorry you, idiot."
But it's understood that if she didn't laugh, then I would be a serious social mistake as opposed to a comical one, and the latter is definitely preferable.
My battery is running out. Figuratively and literally. So goodnight.
Posted by darby on 10:31 PM | Comments (11)
May 20, 2006
Missed Opportunity
Last night before I went to bed, I listened to the messages on our answering machine.
I listened with great sadness to a message from Judy Palkovitz ( an amazing woman who incidentally is responsible for the birth of 3/5 of the members of The Look Machine.) She said that she heard I was accepting any and all requests to perform, and would I be interested in a spontaneous opportunity to play a benefit show that very night in Manhattan?!
I was so very sad that I hadn't heard the message earlier. While yes, I would have had to work through some severe stage fright issues, it would have actually been a perfect scenario for me...I am a very last minute kind of a girl...and the less time I have to think about something, the better. I would have said yes and been on my way in a matter of hours, leaving me not much time to obsess and fear.
And New York! One of my favorite places ever. Ugh, I am so sad.
It was nice of her to think of me, anyway. . .
On a slightly different note, I've been feeling lately like something is about to shift in my life. I mean, my children are now getting older and they are becoming more independent...they no longer need me to have my eye on them every second, which has created a new and amazing phenomenon. There are times when all four of us are home, and we are all doing our own thing...I can play the piano even when they are around. This is relatively new. For the past 6 years, if I ever even attempted to do something separate from them, it was a matter of minutes before I'd hear a very high-pitched little voice yelling, "MOMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYY!!!"
I liken motherhood of very young children to a slavery of sorts.
But a strange kind of slavery...I chose this. And I'm so very thankful that I did, because I can't imagine the world without these two little individuals (who are very certain of their individuality) and I am honored that I can play this role in their lives.
Now that they are getting older, however, I am starting to remember that I was a person before I was a mother. And now I have to figure out why I am here, and what I am going to do about it... I hope with all of my heart that a large part of that reason has to do with music...but how do I move forward? For a long time I've had issues that kept me from really going ahead, but that time has come to an end. I want to do something with this, I just don't know exactly where to start.
Whoever among you are praying folk, would you toss one up for me? Cause I feel like if I don't move forward soon, I'm going to shrivel up and die on the vine. Thank you....
Posted by darby on 07:56 PM | Comments (14)
May 16, 2006
alkdjf
My creativity is locked away and has been for a while. Only recently has it crept out from behind a locked door...where it has been stuffed away under self hatred, shame and fear. i can tell when it is available to me, and it isn't available today.
I can't get to it. I try to pull it out, and all that I end up with is frustration. It's not my true self creating...it's me trying to be authentic, and it isn't the same thing. It's so frustrating, it makes me want to pull my hair out. It's totally trapped inside. Somewhere. It's like someone screaming to me from inside a soundproof glass room. I can't hear what she is saying, but I know she has something to say.
I have wanted to write a post, but i just have nothing to say that would be appropriate. Sometimes the things that are on my mind are things that can't be written in a place like this...
So here are some lyrics to a song I just wrote...hopefully I'll have the music recorded soon....
I know you've got the disease
I see in your eyes it's overtaken you
And I hear silent pleas through the disguise
Don't give away my secret
I won't give away your secret
But here is the part of my dream where I save you
And here is the part where you call out my name
Then I awake, you are gone
O my love
I'm lost, lost in the days
When you were here
When I could hold you close
And you were haunted, i know
But when you chose to go
You chose to leave me haunted
And here is the part of my dream where I save you
And this is the part where you call out my name
Then I awake, you are gone
O my love
Never again will I lay down my head
If you will not linger a while by my bed
Maybe I'll just start posting random lyrics, even if the music isn't recorded yet....
Hopefully soon I'll know how to do garageband alone ...then I'll be able to put music up...
Oh, i just got asked to play at a benefit concert on May 26th...it's a Friday night...I've decided that I"m going to accept any invitations I get to play, so I can get over my horrible stage fright. I usually get so completely scared that my hands shake and my throat gets dry and all of a sudden, the piano keys look completely unfamiliar...like I've never seen a keyboard before. Hopefully if I play in front of people enough times, I will not be so afraid. I guess we shall see...
goodnight...goodnight everybody, everywhere....
Posted by darby on 08:27 PM | Comments (8)
May 10, 2006
Mind Block
Write, write, write I feel like there is so much inside like the moldy stuffing inside of a couch pillow, coming out where the zipper is a little unzipped.
The smell of must and mildew and old cigarette smoke, the sweet chemical smell of plastic toys that aren't yours, and the distorted sound of the far away ice cream truck, close enough to remind you that you aren't one of the kids who ever gets ice cream from the ice cream truck.
The feeling of being constantly hungry, so hungry that I would pick the pinkish white clover flowers and slowly eat the petals. I told myself they tasted like Fruit Loops. And the sound of the morning dove, (my sister could imitate it perfectly and make me laugh) was a haunting sound throughout those desolate days.
A million memories, like a heavy weight resting on my chest. (Feels just like the lead smock at the dentist office used for x-rays.) I can't breathe sometimes to remember. It was how I took it all in. Everything. Everything painful stayed in, pushed down....keep moving...keep moving. Getting on the school bus, that smell hits me randomly sometimes still. That diesel smell, the smell of those green plastic seats, and terror. Being so small that each step up was a dreadful task itself, but not as bad as getting to the top and looking down the vast aisle, the bus completely full of sneering children, all older than me, all eyes boring their way into my shame.
Don't look back, don't look back or you will cry. Desperate for a seat, some way to hide from all of their eyes. No one will let me sit down. Someone calls me Miss Piggy. All of the kids laugh. I look down and despise my new metal Muppet lunchbox. My heart breaks a little because my Dad picked it out for me.
So small, so terrified. Always so terrified. Heart beating wildly, wishing it would stop altogether. My face on fire, everything in me burning hot with self-hatred. I hate my face, the dark circles under my eyes, my crooked straight brown hair. The burn scars on my arms. The bump on my finger. Ashamed, looking down at my small body. Must be why they hate me. Must be.
Posted by darby on 01:30 PM | Comments (28)
May 02, 2006
Something
I suppose I should just make it a habit to write and write often. I have been told that this is one of the best ways to clear one's mind in order to create what is truly inside...to rid oneself of the noise by just spitting it out as it forms.
So....write, write, write at this point....don't think, don't stop to think. Don't stop moving, don't stop the flow of thoughts, the faucet of words, let them run out and spill all over the page. Inside my chest it feels like someone is pumping my heart by hand, the fist squeezing and squeezing steadily...thump, thump, thump...the feeling-sound pulsing it's way up to my temples...breathe in...breathe out. That's all you have to do, baby. Breathe in....Breathe out.
That's all I can do.
Fingers clicking rapidly, smoothly. My eyes burn and sting and I work to breathe in the heavy air around me. Breathe In....Breathe Out...In...Out.
Does everyone have to remind themselves to breathe?
Claustrophobic inside of myself, inside this body that I inhabit. The blanket of dread resting heavily on my chest as thoughts pull me....and I regress and descend into the hum and clang of the mixer, beating, frothing heavy cream against our metal bowl and underfoot, the carpet with it's fat brown yarn. The dark threads, the dark threads, like the dream where the bathroom rug was melted into my face and neck and kept me looking down at the ground. Melted, melted plastic and that thick, brown yarn, burned into my
jugular vein. Wake up, little one, it's just a dream.
No, it's not.
No.
It's not.
Posted by darby on 05:52 PM | Comments (25)
Frustration
It is late and it hurts to type...because this morning I got a big splinter under my cuticle. Kind of similar to a method of torture...
Anyway, this probably won't be incredibly long, but at least it's something new for you to read. I know the frustration of checking a weblog and having nothing new to read. There are days when I check my email only to find an annoying ad from Brookstone and nothing else...and then i check my regular weblogs and they have nothing new...and it is an incredibly lonely and sad feeling.
It's kind of like being at home alone and needing to make a connection, so you call a few friends and none are home, and then you call people you haven't talked to in a while, and they aren't home either, and then desperately you call anyone in the world you can think of who might possibly pick up the phone and fill the lonliness for a minute or two....only to find that not one of those people will pick up their phone.
So, i write at this moment because I don't want you to feel the disappointment of looking up darbydinatale.com only to find that there is nothing new here. That has happened to you before, I know. But not this time, my friend.
Does it matter that I am really not saying much of value at this point? Does it matter that I am just typing, typing, typing the first thing that comes into my head? Have you ever just written a stream of consciousness? That's what I do sometimes when a million thoughts are swirling in my head so quickly and madly that I can't think one clear thought on it's own, and I just write without the extra pressure of trying to make sense. I just write the first thing that comes to my head. It's probably hard to read, but here goes...
Frustration today, frustration and just the plain, dark road and the long shadows in the late afternoon somehow bring a sense of comfort and a sense of longing and sadness, and the clear air feels like the autumn and that makes me sad, too, cause I just want to be free from all of the things that chain me like a prisoner inside this mind of mine. Therapy today and it gets harder and more difficult as we descend deep down inside to the part that is screaming and crying and won't let anyone near, not even the now-me. This part doesn't trust anyone at all and i'm not sure what to do about that. Life is too painful to trust and it only leaves you hurt and vulnerable and wanting and begging and pleading for the things you need that you cannot give to yourself or get for yourself. Powerless. powerless. All i can say is that powerlessness is a driving force somewhere deep down, cause at one point I figured out what it meant to have a little power, and I told myself I would learn how to not let them hurt me anymore. And when will they finally not hurt me anymore? When I have something they want. And what do they want from me?
I could see it in their eyes. They were captivated, completely captivated and stunned and all of a sudden, I saw their weakness. i didn't understand it at the time, couldn't understand, but i determined right then and there that I would do whatever it takes to be that desired object that caused that momentary lapse in power. I would figure out how to make them want me like that. Like they wanted her. Because that is the only way to keep them from despising me...and hurting me...and laughing at my terror.
constant terror constand torment everytime I step out the door, everytime I turn the handle, there they are. There they are, waiting for me, waiting, like wild dogs wait for their prey, smelling the fear. Eventually I would have to come out and there they would be. And I didn't know the world could be any different, any different, can the world be any different? I still don't believe so. i don't believe that there aren't those who lie in wait for the moment when you least expect it to destroy you, to mock you as you suffer, to plan out how they will torment you. LIttle girl, little girl a small little girl, I remember the concrete I remember those cracks in the white concrete and it became so familiar that I could cling to that as some kind of friend. The only thing constant. There would always be the cracks in the concrete. There would always be the bits of grass and the clover that grew out and the sound of the cars driving by and the hot humid days when the bugs would make sounds but I didn't know it was bugs, it was just the soundtrack to the nightmare. To the waiting, to the knowing that soon, that soon, that all too soon there they would be and they would be there for me.
Well here you go, it is Monday, and that means that I have been in therapy. And it is also 1am and I let my guard down at night. And I am writing these things because it is a piece of my past, and a place where I am stuck. And even though you have no idea what I'm talking about and it may make no sense to you, at least you have something new to read. And i may just erase this tomorrow morning, so if you get to read this post, you have logged on during a privileged moment.
Posted by darby on 12:20 AM | Comments (5)