March 12, 2013 § Leave a comment
Lately I’ve been having some hard days. I’ve been fussy and ungrateful and weak. That’s what happens when you open your locked-up places and let all the stuff spill on the floor and fill up the room and make a big fucking mess. It’s called facing yourself and it can make a gal grumpy. Dealing with your shit is a frustrating deal because a) the workload is overwhelming b) I’m not getting a pay-raise or any kind of award ceremony and c) it turns out I’m not perfect but I expect it anyway.
Today I started playing a game in which I tried to come up with more creative and humourous alternatives to phrases I’d rather not say. For example, instead of saying, “I’m sick of having a bad day almost every day”, which would make me sound like a victim (it was even painful to type that), I might say, “My life logistics have been challenging.” But then it started spiraling around into a caustic tone. Instead of, “That guy gets on my nerves because he’s an arrogant asshole”, I might say, “That guy simply has a development problem. His opinion of himself has developed much faster than his actual worth.” In this scenario, I’m probably “that guy”.
This game made me smile but I still wonder, “Am I healing?”. It’s as though I must thrust myself into the concept of the human experience to unearth the secret vulnerabilities, the humour wielded as a shovel, the lever action the final bite that makes the surface rip open and reveal the fresh, quiet dirt below. Maybe I don’t believe in a smooth surface. I don’t believe in a perfect day. It seems more likely that “healed” or “cured” or even “peace” is an illusion. There is always someone there to rip you a new one.
The thing about humans, me and you included, is that we can be incredibly disappointing. That and change and death and the excellent feeling of fresh underwear are about the only things we can depend on. And bad days. Those are still selling really well.