You Might Want to Skip This One.
Yesterday, Aunt Flo arrived and, with very little effort, morphed me into a bitter and bloated unemployed middle-aged hag. My resentment over something HH said the previous evening turned into anger and undeserved self-pity. Yes, he had every right to say that I needed to control my spending if I wasn’t bringing in any money. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I was out of fluff books.
Undeserved Self-Pity Break: Pardon me while I glance down at my gianormous Frankenstein boot.
I’m back. I know I don’t need the use of my left leg to make money. I have a good brain and I really should use it. I know the things I should be doing, more writing, more planning, more paperwork, more work period. But I don’t, I begin to think about all these should-dos and they form a giant killer tomato rolling towards me. Then, I start to hyperventilate and I feel like crawling into bed and rolling into a ball while simultaneously sticking my fingers in my ears and chanting la la la la until the panic passes.
My tough love friend Mo told me I can do more than I think I can. This is not the first time I have heard this but I have a hard time believing it. I remember after the twins were born via C-section and I was asking to stay in the hospital another day because my stomach hurt like, well a stomach whose muscles, un-toned though they were and are, had been sliced through very recently, and the nurse to whom I had just been griping stood outside and told the other nurses that I was doing better than I thought I was. (By the way, since 1994, they have lengthened the time period one stays in hospital post cesarean. Just stating the facts, ma’am.)
Stare into space and think about Dragnet break. I loved Joe Friday with a passion beyond words. Not really but I did really like his no-nonsense ways. Opposites attract, you know.
Today, my anger has turned into a case of the blues with a dash of bitters. I want to put Robert Johnson on the stereo and stare into space.
Robert Johnson was a young black man living on a plantation in rural Mississippi. Branded with a burning desire to become a great blues musician, he was instructed to take his guitar to a crossroad near Dockery’s plantation at midnight. There he was met by a large black man (the Devil) who took the guitar from Johnson, tuned the guitar so that he could play anything that he wanted, and handed it back to him in return for his soul. Within less than a year’s time, in exchange for his everlasting soul, Robert Johnson became the king of the Delta blues singers, able to play, sing, and create the greatest blues anyone had ever heard. You can read the full Wikipedia article here.
I want to drink Diet Coke with crushed ice (well, I am doing that already) and eat junk food (which I am trying not to do because NONE OF MY FRICKIN’ CLOTHES FIT ME OR MY GIANORMOUS FRANKENSTEIN BOOT!!!) I want to stay in my nightgown and unwashed face smeared with yesterday’s makeup. I want to watch a chick flick or read chick lit. I don’t want to contemplate my future. I don't want to keep thinking about the fact that the lady who writes the Dooce.com blog makes $40,000 a month on ad revenue and supports her entire family that way. I don't want to think about the fact that when I had ads on my blog I made less than $20. I’ll think about all these things tomorrow, Scarlett.
Sometimes, I want to go back to 1981 and go to class like I was supposed to and get that degree on time and make my father proud instead of disappointing him over and over like I did.
But then I would not have my family. I feel old and unsuccessful and unable to change into someone like my friend Allene who has more energy, enthusiasm, and work ethic in her little finger than I have in my big fat bloated body.
I’ll be better tomorrow.
Right now, though, I can’t eat that elephant, even one bite at a time.
So, I had a little elephant or took that first step in the thousand mile journey or whatever else works as a way to say I worked on accomplishing a few things. I returned some less obnoxious advertising back on the blog and, although I feel a little uncomfortable about it, I added a donation button as well. Do with it what you will, no pressure. I also read an article about making money from your blog and one of the author's suggestions was to not talk about yourself. Hmmm... how about if I try not to complain instead? With my genes, that's a challenge in itself.
By the way, I am still in my nightgown with unwashed face. I have had two Diet Cokes and three slices of pizza from the freezer section. I am reading (though not chick lit) and, now that I have done some computer work, plan on doing as little as possible (at least while the Pint is sleeping). Thanks for tolerating my trip through Bluesville.