Can't Complain
Ow.
Oof.
This is what I wanted. This is what I asked for- this is all that I asked for. A few months ago, when I was bottoming out on misery and boredom and loneliness, this is what I finally decided I wanted. To be engaged. To be challenged. Not to win- not to be happy, or successful, or skilled, but just to be back in the game. I wanted to care. I wanted to work. I wanted to face challenges, not to get results. I wanted to fall for someone again, not to have that affection returned.
Which is why I can't complain. I don't get to, I have no right. I'm exhausted and lovesick and both my shoulders sound like popcorn kettles when I move my arms, but this is what I wanted. What I still want. I drag my sorry carcass into bed every night with a new set of bruises, floor burns, disappointments and failures, but that was my goal when I woke up. I have no right to complain. I gave up on the thing I was best at to try the thing I'm worst at; I don't get to do that and whine that's it's too difficult. I don't get to demand that life give me a challenge and then complain when it knocks me flat on my ass, every single day.
There isn't a follow up to that thought. The only thing that could follow that is "but", and the only thing that could follow "but" would be complaining. This is what I wanted, this is what I got, this is the only thing I'll accept, and this is the way it's going to be, for as long as it is this way. I care more than I'm challenged than that I'm happy.
Anything else is just gravy.
Oof.
This is what I wanted. This is what I asked for- this is all that I asked for. A few months ago, when I was bottoming out on misery and boredom and loneliness, this is what I finally decided I wanted. To be engaged. To be challenged. Not to win- not to be happy, or successful, or skilled, but just to be back in the game. I wanted to care. I wanted to work. I wanted to face challenges, not to get results. I wanted to fall for someone again, not to have that affection returned.
Which is why I can't complain. I don't get to, I have no right. I'm exhausted and lovesick and both my shoulders sound like popcorn kettles when I move my arms, but this is what I wanted. What I still want. I drag my sorry carcass into bed every night with a new set of bruises, floor burns, disappointments and failures, but that was my goal when I woke up. I have no right to complain. I gave up on the thing I was best at to try the thing I'm worst at; I don't get to do that and whine that's it's too difficult. I don't get to demand that life give me a challenge and then complain when it knocks me flat on my ass, every single day.
There isn't a follow up to that thought. The only thing that could follow that is "but", and the only thing that could follow "but" would be complaining. This is what I wanted, this is what I got, this is the only thing I'll accept, and this is the way it's going to be, for as long as it is this way. I care more than I'm challenged than that I'm happy.
Anything else is just gravy.