I've always prided on the ability to face problems head-on and solve them. Call it a first-born slight of hand. But now I am beginning to see that what I called problem solving wasn't really accurate terminology. I developed habits of problem resolution that didn't really involve resolving the problems at all. More of an elaborate system of smoke and mirrors, and learning the proper terminology to parrot to keep others off of my back.
So now I have the problem. It's internal. It's not going anywhere. My modus operandi of sleeping it off...of feeding the whining inner child a cookie (or buying her shoes)...of diving off the deep end into a book or movie...all of these and more tricks of the trade aren't solving it. Not at all. It's still there. So. What do I do. Call the fucking WAAAAmbulance. Because I've fallen and I can't get up. Well. Not really. I can and I will. I think I need to harness one of nature's miracles. My enormous capacity to get royally pissed off. That's been the missing element, I suspect. I've let plenty of stuff in the last 2 years kick the shit out of me. I've let all of that determine how I view myself- far too personally. I've let the bastards win- which is antithetical to my father's credo. And it sucks. So.
Now what does a pissed off almost 40 year old do? I do not lean on the parents. At my age, they really have earned a respite. Only go to them when dire things or extremely happy things happen. Don't be a burden. They don't need it. I do however, lean on Kenga a bit. That's his job. And he's done it to me before- it's really ok. What else...wing it a bit, I guess. It's new territory in a sense, and if I don't become productive doing things for myself, how the hell am I going to get anywhere?
Part of the project has been writing this tortured (at times) and ridiculous (at other times) thingy. Keeps me in touch with whatever needs to bubble to the top and get written down (within reason- I do have to exercise some restraint- this isn't entirely private). But now I think I have to take another deep, deep breath (after a lungful of the inhaler) and dive into the life I've avoided really living for some time. No more tip of the toes. No more up to the ankles. Right? Right. As long as there is a lifeguard somewhere in the vicinity.
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3 comments:
try gin
And keep writing.
I hope you can use your anger- it only ever turns into sorrow for me, which is why I try not to get too angry about things. Which doesn't ever work 100% of the time. Bodily throwing people without hurting them certainly helps, though.
I'm just too rebellious to take things on the sorrow level. And if I drank more, I would just be destructive. Some times it is too fucking tempting to start chucking rocks through windows. And that kinda mojo doesn't commend itself to being a good little doobee.
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