Holy frijoles! It’s the 16th, and I’m nowhere near my goal. On top of that, I think I HATE what I’ve written. So why am I blogging rather than working on my novel, you may ask? Uh, because I suck. I suck SOOOOO bad. So now, I’m faced with the decision: Do I start all over?
I almost feel as though I don’t have a choice. What I’ve written just seems so ridiculoulsy pedestrian, I’d be ashamed to print it. I feel so terribly stuck. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had ceremonial weekend Starbucks. I actually have no desire to leave the crib this morning. Most days, I’m up and at ’em no later than 8, but this morning, This morning, it wasn’t happening. Of course, I didn’t get to sleep until around 2ish. Maybe that has something to do with it.
This year has been so hellacious. I found myself on a hellacious emotional rollercoaster, and it was amazing how much I allowed it to consume me. I looked to a lot of outside sources, not only to blame, but also to “redeem” me, for lack of a better term. I’ve tried to spare you guys the details, because in all honesty, the details don’t really matter. But it’s taken a long time for me to regroup. Longer than normal. I’m used to the ups and downs, but I’m not used to more downs than ups. But, shit happens, and the beat goes on.
I think that has become a major distraction for me. I was watching a documentary on PBS about Paul Mooney. He spoke of one of Richard Pryor’s last performances, and he said “You’re acting like an old prostitute in Las Vegas afraid to turn her next trick. Get on that stage and turn that trick. Been hoin your whole life, now all of a sudden, you’re afraid of hoin.” And that’s me. I’m acting like I’ve never dealt with life’s little extras.
Today I was reading an article about mistakes women make in relationships, and among them was neediness. Now, when I think of myself, the first thing that comes to mind is independent and self sufficient. Of course, to a large extent, and often borne of necessity, I am. But there were certain things that I saw in myself that I just wasn’t feeling. I don’t judge myself by whatever some random article says, but i do see a need for certain improvements, and I’m willing to make them. Not so that I will be happier when I am in a relationship, but so that regardless of my dating status, I am holding onto myself.
I was writing down some of my activities on a web site. I realized that I have next to none. I think that’s part of the reason I haven’t been able to get out of my funk entirely. So I’ve been making a list of things that I’ve been interested in trying that for one reason or another, I have not. There’s a lot of shit that I want to do.
I’ve actually started meditating and chanting, and I can not begin to tell you how uplifting it has been for me. I can’t say that it’s necessarily on a religious tangent, but I feel like a donut without a hole; which makes me, uh, a moon pie? I’ve dedicated a few minutes each morning and night to my meditation. And whenever I feel negativity creep up on me, I stop what I’m doing to the extent possible, and get back to my own peronal “ground zero.” I guess it sounds sort of mamby pamby, but I feel like I’ve allowed myself to become lost.
I looked at an old date book when i was regularly tracking my weight. I considered the number that now appears on the scale, and I almost allowed myself to get depressed. Instead, I gave myself a few minutes to regroup, and wrote down all the behaviors that got me to this point, then noted the behaviors that must immediately change.
I don’t have the kind of life that allows me to be a punk, ya know? I’m practiced in the art of faking it til I make it, but I don’t want to fake it anymore. At least not as regularly. However, until I’m all better, I guess I’ll have to pacify myself with some killer birthday shoes. The throwdown is next Saturday night, and I’ve still gotta find the shoes of hotness. Smooches.