75. Exorcising Ghosts

Just when I thought I could not be stopped
When my chance came to be king
The ghosts of my life
Blew wilder than the wind

I’ve been feeling particularly haunted lately. Memories of our times together (Jersey girl and I) have begun to crowd my mind.  Thank god I have this place, this external page to write through it. A good friend of mine confessed to me recently that he doesn’t read my blog because it’s, “too personal”, it makes him uncomfortable. I can respect that. It is personal, no amount of Springsteen or Bowie posts can disguise that. This blog is deeply personal.

I think I’ve demonstrated here that I could really write about anything I chose to. My skills as a writer can, at least, be described as competent. I certainly love sharing my enthusiasm for music with an appreciative readership. I enjoy dabbling in poetry too. But this blog exists for one primary purpose, to exorcise my ghosts.

Sounds dramatic, I know. What I mean to say is simply this, she consumes me (crap, that’s even more dramatic). I think about her constantly and I do mean constantly. She is my first thought upon waking and my last before I go to sleep and she is a piece of every thought that passes through my brain in between.

No matter what I’m doing, seeing, thinking, or saying, she is a constant part of the internal dialogue in my mind. If I see something amazing or beautiful, whilst I’m being amazed or entranced by the beauty, I am simultaneously imagining what her reaction would be were we able to share the moment.

I also have to work really hard not to bring her name up casually* in conversations that – more often than not – have no connection to her, basically just to say her name out loud. Yes, it really is that bad.

This blog is my only real outlet for all of that intensity, the only forum where I get to set the agenda. So yes, it’s personal; very, very personal. I could (and perhaps should) have simply kept a journal into which I could have poured my thoughts, fears, and desires each night and then safely tucked it all away under my pillow where no one else would have to have the contents inflicted upon them. But, seriously, where’s the selflessness (or fun) in that?

No, I’m of the firm opinion that baring my soul to an entire internet’s worth of complete strangers is definitely the way to go; far more inclusive really. I guess that’s the writer in me (or did I mean egotist in me?). Regardless, I prefer to be read if I’m going to go to all the trouble of writing in the first place.

Also, as I’m sure I’ve already said, this whole blog is a love letter to Jersey girl, a grand gesture akin to lighting a gasoline heart on fire on your love’s front lawn while a rented mariachi band plays a spirited rendition of Madonna’s Burning up. And you stand there – lit by the flames – holding a sign that reads, 2 weeks is 2 long baby, let’s get hitched.

You know?

So, I get that the content of this blog probably makes some people uncomfortable but, hey, there are a lot of blogs out there. If this one doesn’t ring your bell (dang, should’ve got the mariachi guys to play that one), I’m sure there are options.

I admit I kind of drifted away from the topic there; I was going to tell you (in excruciating detail, probably) about how haunted I’m feeling right now. Maybe I’ll leave that for another post…

 

*You couldn’t see but I was doing ‘air quotes’ there.

Words and image are my own.

©2016