So, here we are the first day of a new year 2013. Guess the world didn’t end after all.
Okay, all sarcasm aside I made a deal with myself for the coming year. I’m not one who does the New Year Resolution list every year and then discovers I’ve gotten a big fat Fail a week later. If I fail at whatever I’m trying to accomplish at any given time I do a few things:
A) Lots of tongue biting. Sometimes it’s best to simply bite your fucking tongue and wait until later to vent. Whether in a blog, a diary, or as I often do to my poor cat. At least the cat doesn’t tell me I’m overreacting or being silly.
B) Rearranging furniture and/or cleaning. There have been a few times when frustration over my failed attempts at whatever have come close to causing my head to implode. Moments later I find myself rearranging and scrubbing kitchen cabinets, sorting clothes in the closet, or my all time favorite scrubbing the toilet until I could serve a 7-course meal on the sparkling white porcelain.
C) If all this fails to work the frustration out of my system there’s the tried and true method of burying my face in a pillow. I then scream as loud as I can hoping my neighbors won’t think I’m murdering my cat or a random stranger I snatched from the street.
Maybe I simply need to find a good therapist and drive them as crazy as I feel most days. Of course that’s an expensive option. As crazy as I feel I’d probably go through at least 20 or 30 therapists before they banned me from coming within 100 yards of anyone with a degree in mental health.
Getting back to the point though. I promised myself I would try to post at least twice a week here and focus on my writing instead of turning into a fearsome critter like the Squonk who refuses to interact with any other life form and if seen by anyone dissolves into tears. Yeah, I feel for that little fucker and his dissolving ass. Who wouldn’t? Of course, being so scared of life and all it has to offer you to the point you end up nothing but a puddle of salty tears is not a healthy way to live your life.
Point being is I concluded to begin the year off by educating myself more. For example last night I spent the evening playing the equivalent of Scrabble on-line with a close friend. She slaughtered my ass in three games. How the hell can I call myself a writer if I don’t possess enough vocabulary to win a damn game of Scrabble? I always prided myself in being a smart cookie and don’t get me wrong I enjoyed myself. I simply realized I’m not as smart as I thought when it comes to the word game. *head desk*
As my mama used to say Pride comes before the downfall and I’d suggest you tie a pillow to cushion your ass cause that’s one hard fall, girl. She was right about so much more than I was ever willing to admit. There are times I wish she were still here so I could tell her as much.
And then there is my lack of patience. When the writing is flowing I feel like a goddess who can do no wrong. Let that writer’s block rear its ugly head though like the Jersey Devil chasing cattle through the Pine Barrens for a midnight snack and all bets are off. I turn into a ravenous beast who howls at the heavens and swears if God (or whatever you call that elusive power) is out to personally destroy my pathetic life as if He, She, or It has nothing better to do. We always want to blame someone for our failures whether it be parents, friends, neighbors, or the Almighty Creator of the universe. It’s human nature to try to find an excuse and not fess up and look in the mirror. I’m no different from any other human on the planet in that sense.
Here’s where my mama comes in again with one of those wise backwoods sayings she loved to toss around. For the love of all that’s Holy quit whining, girl, and just do it. Or a less classy one when her patience had worn thin For the love of God either shit or get off the pot already. And then there’s the ever popular Get off the damn cross someone else needs the wood and nails.
As a kid I never understood what the hell she was going on about, but now as a 40-something woman I get it. If I spent as much time honing my craft and life as I do whining I might accomplish something. Now I’m thinking of all the bloody time I’ve wasted acting the spoiled child. Jeez a loo…now I know what to do.
Nose to the fucking grindstone…CHECK!
Now let’s see if I remember it come tomorrow.