Kicking my own ass
I sat down just now to apply a little judicious boot to the seat of my own pants. See, I just opened a fortune cookie, (mostly stale leftover of our last take out...) to read the following: "You will have good luck and overcome many hardships."
Now, optimist that I usually am, I should read that as: You have the strength and will to overcome the stuff that's riding you, and more blessings are in store. But earlier today, the loan people were on the phone again. They're just people paid to make the actual weasels of the world feel bad, admittedly at the expense of all the perfectly decent folks who've simply had screwwed up circumstances, so I try very hard not to blame it on them. I'm sure at the end of the day, most of them go home desperately needing a bromo and couple of prozac.
ANYWAYS... That always sets my stomach spinning, and my thoughts off on a tangent about how they're going to come and take from me the tiny things that I actually do have. (fretting about sending in that guitar warranty now, aren't I?) Which of course has a tendancy to blur and shroud all the amazing good things in my world, especially lately.
What I read was: More obstacles. More crap. It's far from over, and you are too strong to lie down and let it steamroll you, so heave, girl, heave. It'll pass, but not before the uglier side of reality kicks your ass a few more times.
How can I think that way, after all that's been done/given/shown by family, friends, and even complete strangers? One of the worst things that could possibly happen to me happened when I lost those instruments, and as if by magic, I was restored to wholeness almost immediately.
So how come Student Loan Guy even has the power to make me feel like I'm an evil imbezzeler? So how come I care that the sink is broken, and the house is literally falling apart, and I lack tools, materials, and know-how to repair it, even though it's not even really my house? How come I feel like I don't even feel like bothering to wash the *&%# dishes, knowing no one else will if I don't, and they'll just pile up again anyways...? Howcome it bothers me that my new drum isn't here yet, and even though I recieved a receipt, the card wasn't charged? Howcome I care that my website is up, but my domain, indeed, my domain's server, is down and I'm possibly losing the few sales I was actually getting?
Ugh. This hasn't been extraordinairily helpful...
I wrote a piece of short fiction last night, but I'm not going to share it here. Because it's smut. Heh... I'm not so far gone that fiction and smut don't bring a smile to my lips, at least briefly. So that's something, right?
Now, optimist that I usually am, I should read that as: You have the strength and will to overcome the stuff that's riding you, and more blessings are in store. But earlier today, the loan people were on the phone again. They're just people paid to make the actual weasels of the world feel bad, admittedly at the expense of all the perfectly decent folks who've simply had screwwed up circumstances, so I try very hard not to blame it on them. I'm sure at the end of the day, most of them go home desperately needing a bromo and couple of prozac.
ANYWAYS... That always sets my stomach spinning, and my thoughts off on a tangent about how they're going to come and take from me the tiny things that I actually do have. (fretting about sending in that guitar warranty now, aren't I?) Which of course has a tendancy to blur and shroud all the amazing good things in my world, especially lately.
What I read was: More obstacles. More crap. It's far from over, and you are too strong to lie down and let it steamroll you, so heave, girl, heave. It'll pass, but not before the uglier side of reality kicks your ass a few more times.
How can I think that way, after all that's been done/given/shown by family, friends, and even complete strangers? One of the worst things that could possibly happen to me happened when I lost those instruments, and as if by magic, I was restored to wholeness almost immediately.
So how come Student Loan Guy even has the power to make me feel like I'm an evil imbezzeler? So how come I care that the sink is broken, and the house is literally falling apart, and I lack tools, materials, and know-how to repair it, even though it's not even really my house? How come I feel like I don't even feel like bothering to wash the *&%# dishes, knowing no one else will if I don't, and they'll just pile up again anyways...? Howcome it bothers me that my new drum isn't here yet, and even though I recieved a receipt, the card wasn't charged? Howcome I care that my website is up, but my domain, indeed, my domain's server, is down and I'm possibly losing the few sales I was actually getting?
Ugh. This hasn't been extraordinairily helpful...
I wrote a piece of short fiction last night, but I'm not going to share it here. Because it's smut. Heh... I'm not so far gone that fiction and smut don't bring a smile to my lips, at least briefly. So that's something, right?