the strange planet inside my head
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karma can suck my ass
it seems my whole life lately is rotating around the written word, and we all know how slippery that can be. i'm trying to launch myself as a bona-fide copywriter, since we all also know how difficult it is to make a living writing fiction. not to mention the fact i'm so busy earning a living i don't have time to write fiction.
and it's killing me. because i think i could be good at fiction.
my momma is battling breast cancer for the second time. she has been the only parent i've ever had (besides the first eight years of my life) and to say it's been a rocky road would be an understatement. i feel very blessed we were able to overcome some bone-deep hurts to forge a relationship that is one of the most important of my life. my relationship with her has taught me many valuable lessons that have served me, and will continue to serve me well.
she's fighting. but she's also three hundred miles away, and it's killing me. i can't be there, and she wouldn't want me to -- she knows how much i've been through and how hard i'm working at putting together some semblance of a life, and she would kick my ass in a heartbeat, cancer or no cancer, if i ever gave that up for her.
so, yeah.
there's so much more about that but i can't go there tonight.
and then there's the job.
oy.
i am good at my job, damned good. but no matter what i do, how much improvement comes directly from my efforts, it's not good enough. it's never good enough, and jeezuz wept already, haven't i had enough of that in my life? i mean, really. to get this on a daily basis is wearing, it's taxing the shit out of me, it's making me feel like i have gotten NOWHERE after this trail of blood and tears trudging on broken glass almost fifty years long. i heard it when i was young, i heard it when i was married, I'M STILL HEARING IT.
*deep breath*
and THEN....well, again. not good enough. good, sure. but not good enough. and in the aftermath of THAT particular clusterfuck, where the hell am i? how did i get *here*, of all places, bloodied and dazed and shocked?
i'm feeling lost, lonely, angry, hurt, unfocused, and just plain dead tired. i'm wondering just what the fuck, Universe? why are you poking me so goddamned HARD?? how much is one person supposed to fucking TAKE? I GET IT ALREADY.
and then i say to myself, "Self? Stop being a whiny crybaby. Big deal. You know what to do. What is it you're supposed to take from this? What positive thing is there, here in your pile of ka-ka?"
and i say back to myself, "Self? Fuck you. I'm tired and I don't even want to know. I don't care. Pass me the arnica, because I'm just one big fucking bruise. I don't know what bad karma I have to bring this on, but I'm really, really sorry."
Self giggles. I snarl. Self giggles again. I look for a hammer.
"Oh, no," she says, and snatches it out of my hand. "No, you don't. We've already been through this and we're not going there again. No hammers. We had a deal."
I sigh.
"You're right. No hammers." My eyes overflow with tears and she wipes them away tenderly.
"It's okay," she says as she tucks my hair behind my ears. "You listen to me, missy. Look at me," and she takes my face between her soft hands and looks into my eyes. All I see is the bright blue of hers, shining. "Head up. We've talked about karma. It's not bad karma, dearie. But sometimes, you are an *instrument* of karma. Sometimes, karma will use us to teach a lesson to someone else. Maybe you are the only person who can teach this lesson. You know what that makes you?"
"No. Besides the obvious -- stupid."
She squeezes my face between her hands, her eyes never leaving mine. "No, dearie. That makes you special. Unique. You have just served a Purpose."
(can that be true? it *feels* true. it could be true.)
in that case, karma owes me BIG-BIG. i'm talking HUGE. because this little round took almost everything i had left, and maybe then some. this little "game", or whatever it is, just about took it all. and now i have to re-evaluate some major things in my life. like, what makes a friend? what is real? who can you trust? what is the truth? you know, little things like that, things that should have been figured out long ago.
i think i feel better, at least for the moment. you know how that goes. i always feel better when i write. that is the one constant in my life that i don't think will ever change. it's good. it's a good thing.
i'll take it as a down payment.
hear me, karma?
(oh sure, karma says. how about a child diagnosed with depression, another with OCD and anxiety, and yet another with terrible tummy troubles? now what, bitch?)
i give up.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
and it's killing me. because i think i could be good at fiction.
my momma is battling breast cancer for the second time. she has been the only parent i've ever had (besides the first eight years of my life) and to say it's been a rocky road would be an understatement. i feel very blessed we were able to overcome some bone-deep hurts to forge a relationship that is one of the most important of my life. my relationship with her has taught me many valuable lessons that have served me, and will continue to serve me well.
she's fighting. but she's also three hundred miles away, and it's killing me. i can't be there, and she wouldn't want me to -- she knows how much i've been through and how hard i'm working at putting together some semblance of a life, and she would kick my ass in a heartbeat, cancer or no cancer, if i ever gave that up for her.
so, yeah.
there's so much more about that but i can't go there tonight.
and then there's the job.
oy.
i am good at my job, damned good. but no matter what i do, how much improvement comes directly from my efforts, it's not good enough. it's never good enough, and jeezuz wept already, haven't i had enough of that in my life? i mean, really. to get this on a daily basis is wearing, it's taxing the shit out of me, it's making me feel like i have gotten NOWHERE after this trail of blood and tears trudging on broken glass almost fifty years long. i heard it when i was young, i heard it when i was married, I'M STILL HEARING IT.
*deep breath*
and THEN....well, again. not good enough. good, sure. but not good enough. and in the aftermath of THAT particular clusterfuck, where the hell am i? how did i get *here*, of all places, bloodied and dazed and shocked?
i'm feeling lost, lonely, angry, hurt, unfocused, and just plain dead tired. i'm wondering just what the fuck, Universe? why are you poking me so goddamned HARD?? how much is one person supposed to fucking TAKE? I GET IT ALREADY.
and then i say to myself, "Self? Stop being a whiny crybaby. Big deal. You know what to do. What is it you're supposed to take from this? What positive thing is there, here in your pile of ka-ka?"
and i say back to myself, "Self? Fuck you. I'm tired and I don't even want to know. I don't care. Pass me the arnica, because I'm just one big fucking bruise. I don't know what bad karma I have to bring this on, but I'm really, really sorry."
Self giggles. I snarl. Self giggles again. I look for a hammer.
"Oh, no," she says, and snatches it out of my hand. "No, you don't. We've already been through this and we're not going there again. No hammers. We had a deal."
I sigh.
"You're right. No hammers." My eyes overflow with tears and she wipes them away tenderly.
"It's okay," she says as she tucks my hair behind my ears. "You listen to me, missy. Look at me," and she takes my face between her soft hands and looks into my eyes. All I see is the bright blue of hers, shining. "Head up. We've talked about karma. It's not bad karma, dearie. But sometimes, you are an *instrument* of karma. Sometimes, karma will use us to teach a lesson to someone else. Maybe you are the only person who can teach this lesson. You know what that makes you?"
"No. Besides the obvious -- stupid."
She squeezes my face between her hands, her eyes never leaving mine. "No, dearie. That makes you special. Unique. You have just served a Purpose."
(can that be true? it *feels* true. it could be true.)
in that case, karma owes me BIG-BIG. i'm talking HUGE. because this little round took almost everything i had left, and maybe then some. this little "game", or whatever it is, just about took it all. and now i have to re-evaluate some major things in my life. like, what makes a friend? what is real? who can you trust? what is the truth? you know, little things like that, things that should have been figured out long ago.
i think i feel better, at least for the moment. you know how that goes. i always feel better when i write. that is the one constant in my life that i don't think will ever change. it's good. it's a good thing.
i'll take it as a down payment.
hear me, karma?
(oh sure, karma says. how about a child diagnosed with depression, another with OCD and anxiety, and yet another with terrible tummy troubles? now what, bitch?)
i give up.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
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