40. I’m Never Really Alone

Hello, welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. Musing Interruptus is a podcast for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The background music is called Remsen By Blue Dot. Today, I’m Never Really Alone Once the door closes, I am finally free to be with you. I feel like a teenager stealing away to a place where I can be alone with my thoughts. It is a relief. I am relieved not to have to talk outside the walls of my mind. I speak out loud, beyond the confines of my grey matter. Something I do much too often as it is. Filling the airwaves is natural to me. That said, once I am alone with you, I feel giddy. That doesn’t mean there is always something to say or that the translation of feelings into words is readily available. Throughout the years, most of my feelings have become stories in which I take the opportunity to denounce hurt feelings, my broken heart, mourning, anger, joy, desire, and, well, a few choice scenes in my fictitious character's lives. As much as a fictitious character can live. I know this much: they will die with me, and we will all take our last breath together.  I would be considered bananas if the occupation -writer- did not exist. Sometimes paid, hurrah. Most of the time, for free. Meaning free in every sense of the word. Free to say what I mean or hide what I wish. Free to imagine the textures and describe situations as if giving instructions to a painter or someone who could draw all of this into a visual landscape. I wonder if you listen or read and get a visual. Does it translate into something, anything? I write to disclose the jagged corners, at times, being brave, others, as a means of survival, removing the nose before it gets too tight as a teeter on the pile of boxes, propped up by more imagination. A song whose tempo is marked by my heartbeat. That is what this is. Raw, uncouth at times, unfiltered, filtered, evident, underwritten, overacted, misspelled, and many times with words misused, only because I thought their meanings were one and not really that other. Their sonority made more sense than their actual definition, and I could not be bothered to double-check. This, in general, has been an exercise against an internal imploration of modesty in which the need to write wins. It has won until now.  It is not all drama. There is fun in this.  It is fun to describe the hiding places within words, between the lines, behind the scenes, thoughts and feelings, and projections. Riding the story to see wherever it takes me, discovering shades and experiences I later provide a voice for. Full circle. Continue Reading