Both Sides Now

      It's tough to be involved with a writer. I know this. How can love survive someone who disappears into his writing, who spends more time with the characters in his head than with the one he supposedly loves? Isn't strange that the thing which attracts someone is also that which drives them away?

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons ev'rywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on ev'ryone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

      So tonight I got hurt. Again. I'm very good at it. I'm attracted to people who do that. It's how I punish myself for being alive. Well, there you go. What do I know? Obviously if I knew how to make relationships work, this would have ended differently. And I won't whine about it. Here I am. This is my life. And why is this such a blow? It's not like I loved her. But maybe ... there was the possibility that I could have. It's the lost of that possibility, that maybe, that life that might have been.

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

      Of course, my friends will gather. They always do. They've done this dance with me before. "She'll be sorry." "She'll regret it." "She wasn't worth you." And so on. They know their lines. They're good friends. And tomorrow I will take comfort from them. Tomorrow I will let them soothe my ego. Tomorrow I will get myself get angry at her. I will write poems or stories, I'll spend my anger and hurt that way. No matter what happens to me, there's a part that stands back, that thinks, "We can use this in a story. This is good stuff." Maybe it's how I distance myself from pain. I don't know.

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say I love you right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living ev'ry day

      But tonight it's just me and my writing, my oldest friend. The place that I return to time after time. The characters who greet me, who know me, who expect their stories to be told. They count on me for a happy ending. They count on their sorrows and sacrifices being worth it. And as best I can, I will redeem their pain. That's what a good author does. I just wish someone else was writing my life, that someone else could take this -- I said I wouldn't whine, and I won't.

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

      There's a chapter to finish before I sleep. My hero is trapped in the fortress of the villain, his lady love is about to lose her life, their friends are running for their lives. So I have to get to it. But this post tonight, this is for all those people who have asked me what it's like to be a writer. At least, this is what it's like for me. Me and the words and the world that I want to be.

I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

"Both Sides Now" by Joni Mitchell