Confession 2: A Bit About Grandiosity

I believe that I am a bit of a grandiose person. Here are some of what I consider sound reasons for this. First, I was valedictorian of my high school. Back then I battened my hatches and stuck to the books. Sure, it was a tiny private school, but that doesn't mean those latin, rhetoric and apologetic classes were easy. I grew up rather grounded in my academics and intellectualism - as much as you can in your formative years of personhood. And hell, I fought my way through 6 long years of undergrad to complete a degree in the face of massive life setbacks. I was also working 30 hours a week for 3 of those years. I even completed half of a master's in literary theory with a B+ average soon after. So, yes, I think my "mind powers" might put me a notch into the grandiose category.

I think I have been pretty freakin good at some stuff.

OK, was I a prodigy? I never really got close to that title, but a girl can dream, right? And why wouldn't that be likely if the universe can flip on a dime and tell you you have a mind that does not work even a little? That is so broken that you have to have your arms confined to the side of your body and swallow down big unfamiliar pills?

I hope that some day I will be considered in the top amazing percent as far as writers go. I think I might prefer that to even striking gold someday. If it's not for a book, books or a blog, then I hope at least my poetry helps change the world - or voice some of its agony and ecstasy - one day. I'll even take that accolade posthumously. I wanna be a posthumous hippopotamus. What about post-humorously? Could that be a thing? Anyway, I am trying to tell you - in this very stable Saturday morning condition - I think am very likley meant to be a voice - a voice that will leave behind words in a pitch and tone that has never been heard before.

Lock me up for saying that, go ahead.

Each book store holds thousands of beautiful voices. I want more. I want to create that phrase that will echo in your ear when you are tempted to give up.

Ambitions.

I saw Maya Angelou speak once. I encountered greatness, a survivor soul, and beautiful weaver of silken words. I've witnessed a literary hero reverberate through stadium walls. She spoke of sorrow, of womanhood. I hear her echoes in my head.

Maybe there is a lot of greatness to go around. I scan the bookshelves in front of me. So many footsteps to follow in. Pages beckon.

I've got carried away getting inspired by my forewriters. But this post is really to focus on one thing.

One of the first losses I faced in 2004 was the allowance for dreaming, for having confidence in continuing my intellectual pursuits, thinking I was special and wanting to conquer mountains. I think these dreams mostly ebbed and never truly died. But facets of the mental health medical practitioners I faced combined with my parents - severely threatened to abolish this grandeur that still lives within me.