Once again I’m linking up with the Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Friday. I love these prompts, thank you Lisa-Jo.
“Got five minutes? Let’s write. Let’s write in shades of real and true and unscripted. Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.“
If you met me, I think you’d notice that how I am here on this blog is pretty accurate. Just like my writing I’m often filled with joy and excitement and joie de vivre ninety to ninety five percent of the time, but five to ten per cent of the time I’m busy beating my self up (not clever enough, not pretty enough, too impulsive, too silly, blah blah self-esteem-cakes, sorry). I also apologise a lot.
The descriptor ‘big’ with come into play as well, I’m sure – big laugh, big hips, big eyes, big words, big feet, big hair, big goofy grin. You’d probably notice that I talk with my hands an awful lot, have an unusual accent which slips and slides and has vocabulary from all over, and love to quote from movies and TV a lot. Oh, and the word ‘awesome’ would crop up often, too!
I hope you’d like me. I hope that even if you thought I was too loud or too quiet (both things I’ve been told before) you’d still want to chat with me, and maybe go grab a coffee.
If I was having a louder day I hope you’d take the time to chat and to realise I’m not obnoxious. A boy at sixth form, two days after I joined a brand new school where nine-tenths of the class had been together since the start of primary school, described me as “loud and obnoxious”. How that hurt. I remember crying myself to sleep for weeks. I don’t think I’ve ever been obnoxious…if anything I think I worry too much about the thoughts and feelings of others sometimes. Mine is the loud born of always being the new kid at primary school (six schools in six years), of feeling like you don’t fit in your own family (blessedly a feeling that passed as I romped through my teens into my twenties), of five years of boarding school and wanting to be heard at all in a dorm of eight or ten. That boy and I later became a sort of friends, but I could never quite forgive him for that flippant comment, words thrown out without care.
If I was quiet and withdrawn, I hope you’d give me a chance. The things that make me loud also make me quiet – so does an awful feeling of constantly letting people down, of not being good enough, of not being someone worth talking to. I hope you’d see past this, and maybe tell me to woman up and get over it!
Because then we could chat and enjoy each others company, I’m sure. We could talk about hopes and fears and cakes and George Clooney and movies and songs and blogging. I’d love to ask you all about yourself. And we would talk a lot. I’m kind of chatty ;).
And who knows, over wine or coffee or milkshakes, we might even become friends. 🙂
Woah. That got deep there. Love these posts – always surprising what bubbles to the surface!