There is a conversation that is happening in my head lately.
It is between two very distinct sides of my brain and each has a passionate stance.
The logical part - the one that says things like 'uh ... ya - we need to have groceries if we're gonna eat, folks' and 'how many basements are you going to dig before you get off your ass and do something about it, for the love of Christ?'
We took a vote and we officially hate that side.
... and then the illogical side - it seems hell bent on encouraging me to steep in my own stink for as long as is humanly possible. Letting me explore my feelings and chase my bliss ... because it is my God given right to be all that I can be and the rest of the world just better get with the damned program already and let me have this. ALL THE MAGAZINES SAY I'M SUPPOSED TO WANT IT!
This is the side of my brain that is busy having a feeling over here and ... 'wah! I'm not happy working full time ... wah! it makes me a bad mother ... wah! it makes my house dirty all the time'... and wah! I don't wanna work for another bad man'... I will only take the 'perfect job' ... I wanna have my own business! Wah!'
Boo fucking hoo, D. How are you gonna feel when the vodka budget dries up - huh?
I am insufferable. How does anyone stand listening to me?
I am not sure if I will look back on this time in my life and be able to excuse it all away with some suburban bullshit disorder from which I am clearly suffering. We'll call it 'The Dragonfly Effect' ... after me. Fitting, I think.
It is time to go and unpack my big girl panties, dust off my resume and get a job ... NOW! It is time in so many ways. It has GOT to be nearly hysterical to watch me skillfully avoiding such a plethora of signs smashing past my head - screaming that it is time to get back out there. I got me some mad avoidance skillz.
The thing that makes me sad is that my husband (and no, he is not a saint ... he's just my very best friend in the whole world) would gladly sell his soul to be able to give me what I want so desperately - to be home with the kids. It breaks my heart how selfish I have been. I have loaded so much pressure onto him. Oh - and as an added bonus - I've also been sad, moody, needy and looking for attention in stupid places. I've rewarded his good nature and genuine desire to please me with selfishness. Here's another kicker - HE feels responsible for the mess we're in.
Uh ... yeah, 'cause it was YOUR idea to move my mother in with us... and it was YOUR idea to have 'the perfect house' so we'd never ever have to move again until the kids were all grown up... and it was YOUR idea to talk your boss into laying you off so you could have an extended mid-life crisis.
Oh ... no ... that was me. Right.
It's a damned good thing that this man was previously married to someone so terrible that I look like Donna Reid in comparison ... there's some karma gone wrong right there. His reward for not killing the first one is me.
I do have to wonder why he hasn't kicked me in the arse with a frozen boot yet.
You know, I started writing this post with one goal in mind ... but as these words filter out of my brain receptacle, a whole new perspective reveals itself to me. Writing is such useful therapy. I've even been hiding from that. Boy - there are some freaky little mechanisms in our psyches. No wonder we are so horrid to each other - look at how crazy we act with our own selves!
I have got to smarten up. I have never done anything like this before. It's like I'm stuck in molasses or something. I'm afraid of my own shadow. So I've just 'frozen'. I'm calling out to the universe to give me a sign ... and then sitting and watching missed mortgage payments pile up and pieces of the house falling apart.
Then the thoughts come buzzing in ... we can't sell the house if we can't fix the major issues ... we can't fix even minor issues if we can't put oil in the tank ... we can't rent this out for enough to cover the mortgages and where would we live ... are we circling the drain again? ... and again ... and again ... and then I can't breathe.
How much more of a fucking sign do you need, you asshole? GET.A.FUCKING.JOB! ...and if that doesn't cut it, GET TWO! The kids will adapt. No, it isn't the way I want to do things ... how many goddamned people are parenting the way they want? Living just the way they want? Working at exactly what they want? Fuck off! Who in the hell do I think I am, anyway?
You know ... I think it is possible I always have been ... and I just didn't see it.
I have to admit, I am pretty selective on the things I see. I honestly don't want that to be my truth, but it is.
I like pretty words every bit as much as ugly ones, so long as they paint the right picture. I may sound like I'm just feeling sorry for myself ... I mean, I SO am ... but I have tried to make my attempt at self employment valid. I went after two big contracts. One was a complete loss on the professional side but had a strange win on the personal side ... and the other is still awaiting fruition. If I can land that particular fish, I would secure our position for at least another 6 months ... and if that happens, then everything I have said becomes less about being selfish and more about being a successful risk taker and savvy entrepreneur.
So, you see my dilemma?
...and then it's hurry up and wait all over again.
So how many basements am I going to dig?
At what point do I simply say ... okay, I'm applying for everything I am remotely capable of doing and letting the universe decide what happens next?
I know this is my push. I know that when you freeze, the universe reaches out and gives you a little love tap ... in the nards.
I 'know' this, philosophically ... but when taken in the literal sense, it is still so bloody hard to act.
Perspective would be good here, psychological disorders and all.
A very dear friend once called me a verb.
Being a verb means that in order to function, you must be acting.
I need to act.
Then function will be restored.
I marvel at the simplicity.