Getting Doodley

(Hey, y’all, I wanted to try this form of blogging. It’s probably a one-time thing.)

I call myself Maney and I like to write. I’m learning guitar, I love ice cream, and sea otters are my favorite animals. I doodle so much it’s not even funny. During school, during church, in my journal, etc. So I wanted to see if I could share them a little via the blogging platform.


At school I doodle because I am bored bored bored BORED. My mind wanders and I get distracted. I hate sitting in the classroom and listening to droning teachers. I feel so exposed. At church I doodle because I get anxious, or I’m so tired and I’m trying to keep myself awake. And sometimes it makes me feel less lonely. It’s hard to talk to people.


Some days I can hardly say a word. Other days I can be gregarious because I feel okay, or I see myself in the other solitary sitters. I can talk to them. One shy person at a time is usually not too hard to talk to.


At home I spend a lot of time watching TV series when I feel lonely, anxious, hopeless, etc. It’s fun having friends you can always count on. I try to do dishes or fold laundry or clean my room, because ironically, watching TV makes me feel guilty for wasting time.


Also I have depression.


Spiders are one of my many enemies, right up there with ringing phones, cold spoons scraping together, and death.


My family doesn’t appreciate when I smash a spider but then refuse to throw away the dead body. (Carcass?) I feel I’ve been brave enough to get rid of the little monster–why should I be expected to touch it, ever?


This is a family portrait. I am the one on the top right. My right. Wha–


I also have a lot of plants in my room, tiny palm trees and cacti. I like flowers too but I always forget to water them, so I just stick to keeping these more desert-y plants. I talk to them out loud when I water them. They make my room smell nice, like soil.


The end. Goodnight.


Comment or like this madness below if you appreciated this type of storytelling and possibly want more.


Poetry Friday: A Favor

A Favor

Rainbows in my eyelashes
listening while you talk
letters when your days are blue
lips that close and lock

hands that paint the world in light
thoughts that touch your heart
words that lift the aching soul
making song and art

finding time to hold you close
love that knows no end–
keep in mind my good points, too
when you talk with your friends.

Poetry Friday: The Gallery

The Gallery

The art gallery is quiet, but not silent;
beautiful, but not perfect;
reverent, but not sacred.

The artists’ thoughts hang in the air,
so thick inside my lungs and hands
I could reach out and take them.

Art must be the stuff of dreams,
or so, to me, it seems.

If I breathe too loudly,
the paintings will fly off the walls
and scatter leaf-like on the floor.

I feel an artist’s eyes on my back
as I take a last look around
and walk carefully out the door.

For years and years art has been,
at least from me, kept hidden.

Poetry Friday: Decisions


Convinced that my steps are too loud,
and wondering what my butt looks like
while running on this long-avoided treadmill,
I decide to love myself like a friend.

I decide to think my butt looks hot.
Why not?

I decide that any stares will be in awe
of the running girl with the decidedly hot butt,
the one who loves her ugliness.


The keyboard keeps calling to me. It coaxes me closer and closer to a blank white screen, ripe for a plaster of black font. Every day I ignore the pull, shushing it for just a little longer, just a while more. I tell it that I will never be known for my writing. I tell it that I am young and inexperienced and broken and desperate. I tell it that I don’t have time; I am an adult and I must function. I don’t need to write, I tell my soul, and suffocate its cries as I walk away from the laptop.

But my soul fights back. It delves into art, and I find myself doodling random and meaningless shadings and lines on every blank surface. I sing when I’m alone, and the songs stay in my head long after I’ve crept into the public’s cold eye. My walking takes on a lilt, and I dance, I float, I fly. I find my pencil sketching characters and racing through stanzas of imagery. I catch myself staring too long at the ocean waves, at a blade of grass, at a shaft of evening light. Recreate me, these things say. No, I say.

I WILL NOT BE IGNORED! my soul says in its reverberating voice. You can hate me; you can fight me; you can cage me. And yet I will escape, because I am you. I am greater than you. I own you, and your gifts are not yours. They are mine. YOU ARE MINE.

Finally, broken in more ways than I started out, I give in. My fingers run over black keys and I hand myself over to my soul.

After all, it whispers in smug victory, writers write.

Jack Black, Thank You

I’m really grateful for people who put together funny movies with inspirational messages and gift-wrap them in Jack Black ribbons and paper. The couch and I watched School of Rock (again) tonight, and, man. There’s nothing like a good movie to set you free from the anxieties of life.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about Jack Black. Off the top of my head, I’ve only seen his movies Kung Fu Panda, School of Rock, Nacho Libre, uh… and parts of The Rocker and The Holiday. (To be honest again, I used Google. So, not off the top of my head. Hello.) What I know about Jack Black is that he is hilarious, a good actor, and he made me a happier person tonight.

(I feel like I have to clarify that I don’t advocate swearing, drug use, what have you–a few realities of the world the movie dared to portray. I don’t know exactly where to draw the line of “sin” when it comes to number of curse words in a movie. Some people stop liking movies because they find out bad things about the actors, but I feel morally okay about liking the awesome product of someone who is living their life differently from mine.)

In the immortal words of Dewey Finn (Jack Black), “Dude, I service society by rocking, OK? I’m out there on the front lines liberating people with my music!”

To the people who create art and share it with the world: Thank you. You make my life better. No, you are not defending our country from foreign attackers, transplanting vital organs in operating rooms, or teaching young children how to be good human beings, but you carry us all through the drudgery that is life. We all owe you so much. Keep creating.