Prewriting.

It's hard for me to write without being ambiguous.
I guess I hide in ambiguity.

Part of me is tempted to completely make up a story. A work of fiction.
But I don't think I would gain satisfaction from it.

I've been wanting to write my truth forever now.
And here's my chance.
I'm getting graded on it and everything. No better time, right?

So, write it, girlie. Write it.

I think I'll go for a bike ride tomorrow. I can ride up hills now. My climbing calves are coming back. But this time, they're biking calves.
...I wrote that in Trav's voice. He would add a "yeaaah"

I went through my journals. But they're mostly about ex boyfriends. Super important stuff to record for history, that stuff is. At least I wrote. I wrote all the time. All the time! I would have thought I had more to say.

I won't ever throw them out though.

I used to get mad at mom and dad when they fought during Dragon Ball Z. Of all the things in the world I could get upset about, I was upset that my parents were so selfish to fight during my TV show.
I didn't read that entry. But I remember it well. The words and the emotions. Of all things to remember...
But that's not exactly what I want to be graded on.

I'll just be going through some thoughts. Don't mind me.
I used to find myself in writing. I figured I'd give it a try again.

I want to write about Moms. All of 'em. Mom, Mom Sperry, Mommy Decicco, and of course Mama Kapitan. I want to write about the Moms who sat on their porch stoops, gossiping and smoking cigarettes. I want to write about that one mom, who I saw on Thanksgiving Day running in sweats with her daughter -- a girl I once a envied. I envied her before I saw her with her mom. She had, what I considered at the time, a good reputation. I don't know if I envied her more after I saw her mom. I didn't want her mom. I wanted to become her mom.

Then there was Steve's mom. Friendly, beautiful woman. Loved horses. Always took care to fill herself up with liquor before her husband came home from work.

My journals are crowded with boys. I've always known that the moment I was given freedom, I was determined to find stability. It wasn't until Jeff that I realized I was scared of such stability. But with every boy, there was a mom.

I so badly wanted to develop a relationship with Steve's mom. I just didn't know how.
I didn't have to try with Devin's mom. Mommy Decicco. I loved her. We understood one another. I think she knew I was desperately looking for love and she gave it to me. She was wonderful. And so strong. But still unhappy.
The day she died, I emotionally attached myself to Mama Kapitan.

Is there any other mom like Mama Kapitan? She is the driving force, the glue, and the representation of love and loyalty. She called me one of her own and bought two packs of muffins instead of one, because I might as well have been living there.
This is the woman who playfully threatens me that I am no daughter of hers because I don't call enough.

And that leaves me where I am now. With Mom Sperry. I don't like calling her Mom Sperry. I call her Mom. But I never know how to name her when I talk about her to other people. I hate saying Deb. And I don't like saying Trav's Mom. She's my Mom too. And I wish I could say that without being confusing. I canned chicken with my Mom. But that confuses people. Oh your mom is visiting? No, Trav's Mom is my Mom.

Well, then what about my Mom? I picked up on Julia's habit and called her Ma when we argued. And there was those few years she was labeled as Demon Woman. What else were we gonna do? We had to differentiate between Mom and the Demon that possessed Mom! Or so it seemed back then.
I once had to write a paper about how Mom created the meaning I associated with the word "Mother." I wrote about how we called her Demon Woman. I didn't do well on that paper.

I fought it for a long time. But learned to accept, gratefully, that I am my mother's daughter. I recognize her greatness and I am grateful for the gifts she had given me. I learned to love that I will feed a dying bird through an eye dropper and make friends with the street cats. I love the appreciation I have for nature. I know I got that from her. And I KNOW that my sense of adventure came from her. Lord knows it did not come from Dad. Who would I be, without my adventure? I love that I grew up in a magical world, provided by not only my mother, but by my sisters and brothers. I learned not to deny my sympathy for worms on rainy days. After it rains, I still pick up worms off the sidewalk and toss them back in the dirt.

And as for all the things she wasn't able to give me. All the lessons she couldn't teach me. Well, I guess God blessed me with other moms for a reason.