I don't know what the hell is up with me but I have some sort of bee in my bonnet. Far as I can tell it's the kind that makes you glad you weren't born in times when slavery was still legal and you just happened to be one, that that is, because this kind of bee is the kind that would make you start a revolt all on your own and you wouldn't care if no one else joined it. In other words, the bee ain't that bright, it's just angry. Maybe it's time to schedule another appointment with my cheerleader come psychologist.
I'm screwed up ya'll. I'm standing here in front of ya'll confessing like an alcoholic at an AA meeting. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. You can never drink again. Using that as my logic I can never...screw up again?!
And so logic fails. Again.
My intellect. At times of self-delusion I consider it more than adequate. On a really delusional day I even consider it better than average. On a bad day I'm kicking myself all the way down George Street, Sydney, (it's a long street and it crosses several suburban borders) for being so stupid.
Lately my intellect has spawned some, shall we say, interesting ideas. One of them being that I perhaps should take up smoking again just to have something to do. It's been, what, eleven years or so since I last sucked some serious tar into my little lungs.
That thought popped into mind just as easily as if I would have been considering taking up crocheting or something equally riveting so I could make really weird stuff to sell on etzy.com.
But that was after I ruled out becoming a raging alcoholic simply because I don't enjoy being drunk and I know people who are recovering alcoholics and it's all too hard and I may change my mind as one does occasionally and then I would have to recover too. On top of everything else.
So, I considered pot but that shit makes you eat heaps and I'm already fat but if I was stoned all the time I wouldn't care, right? Right? Wrong apparently, and then there was the whole thing about illegality and that bothered me a little plus of course I don't know any drug dealers. I used to when I lived in Redfern a decade ago but that was only because of my neighbors' constant dealing and the fact that my first husband was an unashamed pothead (and a raging alcoholic which may account for my reluctance to become one at least in part).
So then I had this absolute brilliant epiphany! It was so bloody brilliant I was even managing to praise myself for it against all odds what with the poor self esteem and breakdown and all.
I should change my attitude!
If I changed my attitude I wouldn't be so anxious, dependent on others' opinions of me and definitely not become so angry about things I perceive as being wrong in this world (or my own reality depending on my attitude towards the whole thing).
Problem solver me! Pat, pat on my back. Sheer genius there Inkus Spillingus!
At this point something sane in me took over. Apparently it does still live in my noggin somewhere...
No! No! No! That’s not good enough. I don’t buy it. What I’ve learned is that when something is wrong and it riles you up to the point that it makes you feel bad or angry then you can’t simply change your attitude towards it. Even if you succeed the wrong is still there and now it thinks it's winning so it's mocking you until you become aware of how seriously wrong it is again.
(I'm not sure the medication is working for me. Even I think this sounds like crazy talk! Or, maybe this is me when I'm sane. It's so hard to tell nowadays ya'll.)
I think what I'm trying to tell you is that I think that you can't really change your attitude to stuff that bothers you. That's not the key. The key is, and wait for it, *drumroll*, to shift your focus.
If something is bothering you enough to send you spare and you can't do lickety about it, it helps to focus on something else.
It's like when your cat decides to give you the cold shoulder and you go and talk to your dog instead. You can sit there an stew over the asshole cat or you can enjoy soft doggie because he loves you (and he's like totally dependent on having a pack so he'll basically do anything to please you). In my case nowadays there's no dog so I switch cats. There's three. One's bound to be hungry (and therefore willing to suck up to me).
Now if switching focus doesn't cut it you're not stuck. There's always switching tact. Tactics are important.
If one tactic or strategy doesn't work then it's time to get all smarty pants and think of a new one or even several new ones. Tactics and strategies are like cakes. You can have more than one piece in the same sitting. It's OK even if you don't think it is. If you were my grandmother you would even have extra cream on top even though it's so unfashionable nowadays.
I learned the whole switching tactics and strategies thing when I was riding horses because there was this one bastard little pony who used to bite people in the back as soon as they turned away. I was no exception.
I spent weeks trying to anticipate the bite but then one day when he got me anyway I just reacted and punched him in the nose. *Kapow*. That was the day we reached an understand and he promised never to bite me ever again and I promised not to hit him ever again We weren't exactly best friends but we were able to frequent the same stables without further incident.
So armed with these completely insane thoughts in my head I will enter tomorrow to do a presentation in front of the manager formally known as the Sharpei, now know as the Reptile because of her obvious inability to empathize, and I will rock it. Maybe. I have no doubt that I will get the same response as usual. Cold and damp. Like a Sydney winter's night.
God ya'll! She scares the crap out of me for some reason. I don't know why but she does. I could totally take her in a cage fight but she uses mind control which is cheating. Anyway.
And I need to say this as well:
I'm going to be OK with being on medication if that's what gets me across the line in the end, up in the morning, gets me to the point I can make it to work everyday and so I can sleep at night. If I was another person I would tell me this, I really would. I'm lucky 'cause I had someone else telling me this and sometimes you need that (you know who you are and thank you, really!).
I'm OK. It's all that counts. Even if God raptured my computer monitor this morning using a power surge. I didn't know monitors had souls but there you go. Thank God for the freebie albeit smaller monitor that's been sitting on the floor in my room for months waiting for me to decide its fate. I've been meaning to do something with it. It's small which is kind of cute. It works.
I promise to try to be more grown up in my next post, I really do.
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