I’ve been told I just have to move on. You have to move on.
Those are the voices. Find a way to be happy. He’d want you to be happy. He’d want you to live your life.
You don’t even know what you’re asking of me. You think you’re asking me to climb a hill. I know you’re asking me to climb a 40,000 foot mountain on my hands and knees without taking a breath.
Day 127 – Ask me
I’m trying really hard to like my new job. I like the people I work with. I like the parking situation. They have free coffee.
I know everyone expects me to like it. I know everyone thinks I should. I know I’ve complained about my job(s) in the past. (I complain a lot…it’s what I do. It neither makes me charming nor cute, but it’s true.) I know people who love me want me to be happy. And by happy, I mean employed. And by employed, I mean making money and having some purpose every day. And by purpose, I mean something other than writing, because I’ve gathered that no one sees that as having purpose until you’re JK Rowling, and then money talks. Right now, money isn’t talking to me. Right now, it’s a silent reminder that I have to do what everyone eventually has to do as an adult. Get a job. Make money. Get insurance on things like cars and rental apartments and my life. Dream about what kind of fence I’ll put around my yard (white picket, I’m told). Plan for retirement, when I don’t have to work this job anymore. Pick out some sort of school area I want to be in if I have kids. I’m supposed to have kids apparently. Meal prep so I can do the smart thing and save my money because eating out is a waste. Invest it so I can give it to the kids I’m supposed to have. Use the job money to buy gas for my car so I can drive to work to make more money to buy more gas. Go to bed early so I can be well rested for the job I sit at to make money so no one has to worry about me any more or wonder why I’m so useless and pathetic when they all thought I’d be somebody. Ignore all feelings of wanting to write or run away because that’s not practical. Not nearly as practical as sitting at my desk day after day and making money so I can come home too tired to remember that writing is the only thing that makes me happy. Forget about happiness so I can work because adults are supposed to have jobs they don’t like. Who am I to think I get to pursue my dream? Who do I think I am? Unless I become EL James somehow and write the masterpiece* Fifty Shades of Grey and then it’s okay that I wanted to be a writer. Then, despite the content and the quality, then it’s okay because I have the money to show for it. But until then… I should stop trying to write and be lucky I got a job.
Day 99 – Mo’ money…
I had a good day. I feel weird saying it and I don’t know if it’s true down to my core, but I had a good day. Can you have a good day when bad is how you always feel?
It’s like the opposite of a silver lining. Normally, it’s the same and I have a storm cloud of bad feelings with a tiny sliver of momentary happiness. Today was happiness “cloud” with a tiny sliver of sadness. Is it still a cloud if it’s happiness? Like a storm cloud of good omens? Can you mix all these ideas and metaphors into one thing?
Day 98 – Happy day
Well, I suck. What can I say? I keep missing days.
I felt good today. Useful, productive, dare I say – happy?!? I like the people at my job and the work keeps me distracted for the most part. I left work feeling like I’d actually done something with my day, had some fun interactions, and then had the evening free to do whatever I wanted (TV and food, obviously).
Am I forgetting? Am I a bad person? I felt relieved. I could breathe. Now that I realize this, it’s all gone.
Should I be grieving? Is this part of grieving?
I feel bad that I felt good. I’m ashamed.
Day 95 – Less grief, then more grief
Well, shit. It happened again. I got distracted by life. I guess that’s a good thing. It means I was having fun. But in reality it means I was having fun tempered by the 50+ times I checked my phone for texts from my family and worried and sent texts and couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Fun with an edge. Maybe there will be a day where that’s not so present. Where I can just enjoy and not worry or panic or feel bad about enjoying. But maybe that means forgetting… I don’t want to forget.
Day 83 – Happy but sad
I have my moments of realizing it’s a beautiful life and moments of thinking it’s hard and tonight I felt that combo very acutely. I am always trying to live my happiest, best, most beautiful life while feeling deeply sad in my very bones. And also while being the most cynical, pessimistic, anxious person on earth.
You can try to fight me on that, but you will not win.
The things we inflict on ourselves and our families and the ones we love with one choice or one action or even a series of choices or actions can haunt us and them for the rest of time. Why do we do these things? Why don’t we all make better choices? Why did I date ANY of the guys I’ve dated before? Why did I buy those flowery pants? Why did I see a dress I bought recently in People Magazine on the body of an 84-year-old? Why did I say that one thing that one time (this question can apply to almost anything I’ve ever said to anyone at any time)? Why why why?
Life can be so beautiful. I think it’s meant to be. But then we fuck it all up with moving away from our families and living alone and working long days and driving everywhere and long commute hours and short vacation time and limited financial resources and interacting with idiots.
These thoughts run through my head a lot. When I eat all the foods, the anxiety gets full and bloated and needs a nap, so I get a short break from them but they always return. Today they reappeared like an angry pimple on a 16-year-old’s face the day before Prom. Go. The Fuck. Away.
Day 67 – Choices Choices Choices
Some days are much harder than others. This one had a lot of ups and downs. I had a ton of sad moments where I fought back tears and a ton of happy ones where I laughed until I cried. So, either way, there were tears. Maybe that’s just life. Maybe that’s everyone.
I missed posting this. Accountability.
Day 62 – Tears