Beautiful Fuzz

Everything creative, everything fun, everything in my imagination is surrounded by a beautiful fuzz. It's out there all the time, and all I need to do to be happy is connect with it. Being silly helps me to connect. Making people laugh helps me to connect. Singing makes me at one with the fuzz, helps me dissolve into it, roll with it like waves breaking in the surf. And writing, well that does the most special thing of all, it helps me to articulate it. In minute detail. Helps me to express myself. Makes me feel whole, alive, worthwhile. Gives me a voice and a purpose. Even if only during the quiet times when it's just me, the pen and paper and my thoughts.

When I was a kid I could see auras. Well not that I knew that's what it was at the time. And I couldn't really physically see an actual colour surrounding the person. It was more that through their name, their face, their personality, I subconsciously connected with a colour. All my friends at primary school had a colour. I never told them and I never realised at the time that this was a bit unusual. By the time I reached high school this kind of disappeared but if I had to sit down now and match a colour to my friends and family, I don't think it would be that hard.

In my teenage years, my bedroom was my sanctuary. It was a room I could unleash my creative self in. I could paint extra eyes with makeup on my face, burn candles, listen to The Cure and fall asleep curled up in a ball over the ducted heating vent. I could write in my diary about all the boys at school who I had crushes on, but were too scared to tell my friends. I could listen to Prince and wonder whether a boy would ever do the things to me that Prince sang about in his songs. I could write poetry and cry for hours about how my new boyfriend didn't pay me enough attention. I could sing along to all my favourite music and dream about being a sexy jazz singer like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. I could sit on my dressing table and talk into the mirror, pretending to host my own TV show. I could dance in front of the mirror pretending to be a hot singer in a film clip. I could open the window, burn incense and smoke a cigarette, foolishly thinking that the incense would cover the smell of tobacco. I could ignore the rest of the family. I could ignore the dysfunction and the fighting. I could be in my own little peaceful nucleus, exist entirely in the beautiful fuzz of my own creativity. I could be whoever I wanted.

And now...I just need to find a way of transporting that freedom out into the world. I just need to find a way of carrying around a little piece of that beautiful fuzz, everywhere I go. I just need to find a way of doing something fulfilling with my life. And soon...