so...who am i?

i was over on brandi the space cowgirl's blog and she had this absolutely wonderful post about the nagging voice(s) in the back of your head that show up when you think about being more. y'know, the voice(s) that put their hands on their hips, or raise an eyebrow, or lean in really close and say, "who do you think you are?"

if you haven't, go read it now. i'll wait.

it's kinda funny, because i had just gotten finished writing an email to the lovelylicious jane over at the painted house about that very thing. except i talked about it in mythical and metaphorical terms.

leave it to me to be an old fuddy-duddy wannabe-intellectual about it, huh? =)

then again, perhaps that's just another expression of the voice saying, "who do you think you are?" to me.

it always comes from just over my right shoulder, just inside my peripheral vision, this voice. and it's always two feet taller and bending over to crowd my personal space, to whisper in my ear, "who do you think you are?"

then the other parts of it start coming, about how that piece will never be good enough, about how the Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius is actually the Gutwrenching Work of Staggering Embarrassment and will never be published, how i will always suck at this entrepreneur thing and will never make a dime, about how i'm not as smart as i like to think i am and should stop pretending....and on and on and on.

and i always believe it, and it always gets the best of me, and sometimes there's nothing i can do except just bow, and scrape, and listen to it with my whole heart...

and that's when i need to ignore it the most. however, ignoring it never really ever did anything.
maybe i should confront it? i've always been very good at being defiant. whoa, my bio-parents can tell some stories about that! if i ever wanted to do something, i usually went right ahead and did it, damn the torpedoes, and took the consequences no matter how they came.

i wonder what happened.

i can't really say that i grew up, because that usually means that you grow wiser (shut up, i like to think so). but there's always something which gets in the way, especially in the way of my writing. there's always more laundry, more house cleaning, more articles to write, more advertisements to put up, more phone calls to make, even more time to spend with the family...and my creativity gets put on the back burner and grows cold. maybe i grew...soft? bent-over? tired from the other voices, the real ones, asking me "who do you think you are?" that's entirely plausible. i thought i was over that.

no...i AM over that.

starting right now.

so...who am i?

i'm a divalicious Funkmaster. i'm a revolutionary freedom fighter for Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love. i'm armed with my pink pleather go-go boots, pink headband montera with the springs and pink flashy hearts on top going boing! i'm a fucking AWESOME writer, who's going to bring my story to thousands upon thousands of readers all over the world, and they're going to see the same thing those closest to me do: all my talent. i'm a phenominal singer, even if i just sing in the car when no one else is around. i'm beautiful and voluptuous and shining and worth so, so much.

THAT, my little arrogant voice, is who i am.

who do YOU think you are for trying to bring me down?