“Madness can be beautiful, and it can be disastrous. Madness can destroy, and it can create.
Two sides of the same coin.” – Autumn Dawn Leader
So, the mad compulsion to blog has lifted; I’m not feeling any desire to post everyday. Other obsessions linger, one being this matter of divesting myself of the American accent.
Some may criticise me in this endeavour. Those are people who identify me as American. But, that is not my identity.
True identity is a spiritual thing having nothing to do with where a person is born or grew up; the soul has no nationality. Therefore, I feel no loyalty to my native accent and I wish, as someone who makes much of tune and tone, to replace it with what I know to be more aesthetic to the ear.
Thus, I’m training my tongue with proper elocution exercises. And, I’m finding it a strenuous workout indeed.
When I told my husband about how these exercises strengthen the tongue, he remarked that, perhaps, he ought to try them, too. He said it with a sly grin – the perv (and, I love him for it) – and I mentioned something about the “cunning linguist” and we both dissolved into laughter.
Ouch. My tongue hurts. This certainly isn’t for the faint of heart…or mouth, as the case may be. But, my determination persists. I must make my tongue know what my ear understands, and I must make my ear all the more sensitive.
To do this, I am talking to myself… I mean more so than usual. Practising. My social anxiety presents a serious obstacle to my endeavour…it all tends to fall apart when I go out my door and I am immediately put under pressure. My speech just starts to sound better…and, then, damn it, I have to talk to someone! Irony, anyone?
I suppose, the thing is, I hate labels and boxes and typecasting. Someone hears an American accent here, and suddenly there’s the box, the confinement. I’d like them to see me before there is a judgment made that doesn’t apply to me but will be attributed to me nonetheless simply because humans are too stupid to look past something so superficial.
Elocution used to be taught in schools. There used to be a standard. Now, well…I suppose one might say that standard is just another box. But, I won’t play devil’s advocate here on my own blog. Here, this one place where I have my say. But, at the very least, I don’t think a desire to improve one’s speech (whatever the reason) could be considered, in any way, a negative thing.
The aim is merely to improve. Perfection is not in my reach. As I say, practice may NEVER make perfect, but it CAN make BETTER.
Better. I’m not getting any. I mean with the health issues. But, this – the accent thing – is something for me to focus on. I know, I know. Right now, it isn’t a focus, it’s an obsession, a compulsion…a madness. I’m mad.
Yes, I’m mad. I’m not even allowed to be eccentric. Because, you have to have money in order to be eccentric. I know what I am: ill. But, surely a sick person with a lovely accent is better than just a sick person.
So, until this present obsession lifts (i.e. I get too frustrated with myself for continual failure), or I get my lyre harp (the other great obsessive craving of right now), I will work on this project of ridding myself of the American accent for which I have developed such a personal distaste… and, it would seem, my tongue’s going to ache. And, hopefully, at some point, others in the outside world will be able to hear all the hard work. I can, you know, only hope.
Obsession is a form of madness. Madness is insanity. Insanity can be, or include, or engender, deep creativity. Creativity is good. And, it’s really the only reason I don’t always mind being insane. But, obsession is bad. It’s exhausting. It’s the opposite of balance. Imbalance and extreme is a part of my nature. And, no amount of creativity (and, I have a large amount) can sufficiently make up for the damage that obsession causes.
This is one reason I continue to meditate. It doesn’t stop my obsessiveness, but it can slow it down somewhat. Otherwise, I am a total train wreck.
I have not been doing well lately. I had been doing better, but then… well, medication fiascos occurred. Madness asserted itself with force. And, my physical health took a hit. It’s all made me want to hide and be reclusive again. The way I feel… the heaviness in my head and chest, makes it very difficult for me to interact with people. It makes me want to avoid them. It’s very frustrating because, as I say, I had been feeling better. This, now, is like another one of life’s kicks in the teeth.
At this same time, I discovered a gps based adventure game called Ingress. I am now obsessed with said game. One good thing is that it gets me out of the house, out of bed. And, I’m good at the game. I like being successful at something. It’s just a shame that I’m not as good at life.
I’m tired. That’s the thing. The intense, inescapable weariness has returned in force. I’m back to praying every night that I don’t wake up in the morning. Of course, I do wake up…and, I go play Ingress. It’s something. Have I mentioned, I’m good at it? Still, it would be better yet if I just didn’t wake up. And, I suppose, would be even more better (betterest) if I could feel okayish again. I mean, I wasn’t totally fine. That’s far too much for me to ask for. But, I was okayish. And, I liked it.
This. This, how I feel right now? This, I don’t like.
Anywho, that’s the latest from me. I felt I better check in, write something. So, I have.
Paint me in the colours of music: flat, sharp, subtle and bold.
Keys of black and white tell a story that is anything – everything – but.
Nothing so tidy, nothing so clear-cut…
something so imperfect and painful becomes a melody.
And chaos is just the prelude to the exquisite, the graceful madness.
A tale of sadness. Wednesday’s child.
It’s my story. It’s my portrait.
These are my colours.
© Autumn Dawn Leader 2014