January 5, 2013
The Art of Curmudgeonry
Greetings madpeople. I’m returning from my longest blogging absence ever. Did you happen to notice? Gah, just throw a girl a crumb and say yes, ok? I’ve been very busy, being very curmudgeonly. It’s not easy being so surly and ill tempered. So bah humbug to you! Blech!
See, I’m still not back to normal. When you fall from higher up, the recovery is a bit of a challenge. This has been a great lesson this Holiday season. And please, when you read “Holiday Season” do it with a sarcastic and loathsome inflection, as I intended it.
I can’t put my finger on any one thing that has caused my descent into the abyss. Rather, I think it’s been many different things. We started December with a toddler at little darling’s school dying. A hit so close to home. I already live in fear of people dying. The Angel of Death has already visited my home. This is something that many of you fear from afar. You know it must be horrible….but until there is an untimely and overly traumatic death in your home, well, it’s impossible for you to have the appropriate level of fear. Kind of like how you really don’t know what having a baby is truly like until you have one. Words just don’t suffice. The anxiety started to get the best of me.
A couple weeks after the death at school, the Newton shootings occurred. Hysteria breeds hysteria. I watched nearly zero of the coverage so as not to alert my kids to the true horribleness of the planet, but being plugged in to the internet was enough of a reality dose to keep me off kilter. I can only repeat that I hate humans even more than I already did. And let me be clear, it’s not just the shooter I loathe. It’s many other people who proved to me how utterly insane they are just by talking. I’m so fucking sick of stupid.
I felt myself spiraling downhill. I felt the anxiety swelling up. I kept telling myself to get a grip. It was harder. Christmas was looming and I was going to have to deal with it like this.
Going into Christmas on a high note would have been difficult enough. Going into Christmas off kilter and with a wicked case of PMS to boot = disastrous.
So much healing has occurred over the past year. I guess I got cocky. When I go back and read what I wrote in the beginning of January 2012, I’m blown away. Completely blown away. I’m so thankful for the gift of time. But I’m still angry. I’m angry that I will have to deal with this forever. I’m angry that I can’t make it go away. I’m angry that all it takes is the slightest teeniest tiny gap in the fabric of my life for the grief ninja to slip in and bust my chops. I can’t go from Point A to Point B without this baggage. I try to advance in line without the bag…but the ninja will not be outsmarted. “Miss, you forgot your bag!” he calls out. Damnit! Fucking ball and chain. GO AWAY!!!
I gave up even trying on Christmas Day. I stayed in bed and cried. I can’t even believe I did that to my kids, but I did. I got up with them, they opened presents, and then I went to bed and cried for hours like a stupid sissy. The next day a pile of my favorite high school muthas gathered for drinks and merriment. I didn’t even go. I couldn’t even imagine laughing and cutting loose. I was having a hard enough time just not crying.
Over the last few days, I’ve read a lot of what I blogged early last year. My first thought was that I am definitely a schizophrenic, and my second thought was slight regret for publishing the shenanigans. But as I near the half million mark, I can be proud that apparently it was good enough to attract readers, and more importantly, I know I’ve helped a shitload of people to learn to carry their own bags. Your kind words have inspired me too.
Peace, love and blessings to you all for 2013. .
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