Pursuing Mediocrity

That’s what life feels like right now. I’m bust­ing my hump just to stay “almost” where I’m not quite good enough. In the last year, I’ve aban­doned dreams, lost hopes, and sur­vived. I’m not want­ing to write on the blog any­more because I’ve bared my soul to the world on here, and I don’t have time to do any­thing like this. It’s not like any­one even gives a crap, and yes that is bit­ter­ness. My own hus­band didn’t even know that I’d made a blog post this whole year, and he helped me restore the thing when it got hacked, he even has posted to it. It’s not about being angry at him, though, it’s anger at my own self for let­ting another thing slide. I had plans. I saw fire­works and sparks and rip­ples in the uni­verse. And now I’m stuck in ratraceville.

I don’t like office jobs. I mean, maybe that’s not true, because I had a lit­tle home office here that I was dig­ging. I have sac­ri­ficed and toiled and every­one keeps telling me that all a per­son can do in this life is just do what you have to do to scrape by, and every­thing in my soul refuses to accept it but then how are those kids gonna eat? I’m 34 and because I screwed up when I was in my 20s I’ve got this path ahead, and I DON’T believe in that b.s.!!! Yet here I am, dead brother and all, pitch­ing a fit and try­ing to sti­fle myself from speak­ing about cer­tain things. I make peanuts at a job I’m too cow­ardly to vent about on the web lest it get back.

I’m a rav­ing lunatic, is what, in my mind, but out­side I’m all smiles and pleas­ant — that’s even a nick­name at the office for me…

I can’t decide if I want to aban­don the blog or not. My renewal comes in July, not that that makes any sort of sense. I thought I had two years. I can’t even find my con­tract. I don’t know where half of my life has gone this past year. I’ve been in a fog, stum­bling from day to day. Sud­denly one day I woke up, and dis­cov­ered I liked sex and the taste of food and had dreams and shit, but guess what? I’ve traded all that in for steady and reli­able. I’m so self-absorbed, too, in this post, and so many fuck­ing oth­ers. This blog was going to be about free­dom and space and nerdi­ness and IDEAS! Instead it’s all emo­tion and vent­ing and wail­ing and bounc­ing and even soar­ing and hap­pi­ness, but no ideas. I hate that, too.

I’m such a mal­con­tent. I’m angry at myself for being depressed, and I’m sti­flingly depressed some days. There are breaks, but I feel like a trapped rat. I haven’t started gnaw­ing my legs off yet.

Any­how, now that I’ve unleashed that at the world, ha, let’s be real­is­tic, T, at my own two eyes and pos­si­bly no one else’s, I’m going to make some promises to myself. Since I kept the promise to write again, even though I think it’s kind of point­less but I haven’t said any of this, though I’ve hinted at it to a few people.

1. I’m going to start work­ing out again.
2. I’m going to get a job that I enjoy. Even if it’s not a per­fect fit, I am going to not find my daily life tor­tur­ous.
3. I’m going to start med­i­tat­ing again.
4. I’m going to start writ­ing again, even if when I write I despise myself when I read the words on the paper.
5. I’m going to quit fuck­ing wal­low­ing and play­ing it so damn safe.

P.S. (sub­set of #5) Yes, I do drop the F bomb. If you find this Mom, you’re going to have to deal. There’s so much worse wrong with me than that.