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No Stranger to Despair
Oct. 6th, 2010 09:03 amSo.
The Behemoth died the final death last Thursday. The hard drive enclosure I found came last night and was... wait for it...
Too small.
At that point, I quit for the night. It's been one fucking thing after the other these last five days and at that point, it was just the better part of valor to go to fucking bed. Which I did. I read a little bit of the latest Julia Cameron book I have (not much of which I think I actually really saw) and then went to sleep.
And cried.
Again.
This is one of the very, very, very few things that I resent about having had children. Before I had my girls, I didn't cry except rarely. It required an effort of will to weep, especially in front of people. When I went to Sundoor, one of the things that I gave myself express permission to do was to cry if I felt that I needed to cry.
At the time, it was liberating.
But now...
For fuck's sake, I cry at the drop of the hat. I don't know if I stuffed it for so long that I've reached my limit or what. I am slowly finding a way to put a lid on it, because I am not pretty when I cry. The Bean and I cry the same way. We get red and angry. We're not like the Mouse who cries these perfect jewel like tears.
So, having achieved some sort of lid, I'm back to where I was, so long ago. Crying makes me angry.
It doesn't help that I've gone missing from my Goddess and my other attendant spirits. I know they're there. I'm the one who's lost. Not them. I'm the one who's abandoned my practice. I'm the one who has forgotten the feel of the Fire.
Droughts end, I tell myself. Obstacles are surmounted if I don't give up. Mountains are conquered if I continue to climb. Crying solves nothing.
But I can't stop.
I just want gear to fucking work. I want to keep my agreements to all the people I have promised to deliver to. I hate when the World thwarts my will, even though I know that it's way fucking bigger than me and often has bigger plans than I can conceive. It makes me want to scream and break things. It makes me drive way too fucking fast and recklessly.
Right now, I don't fucking give a shit.
And when I get angry, the blades come out.
Is that the best you've got, motherfucking World? You'll have to work a lot harder to stop me. Because the only way you will is to kill me.
Bring it.
I will not fucking stop.
The Behemoth died the final death last Thursday. The hard drive enclosure I found came last night and was... wait for it...
Too small.
At that point, I quit for the night. It's been one fucking thing after the other these last five days and at that point, it was just the better part of valor to go to fucking bed. Which I did. I read a little bit of the latest Julia Cameron book I have (not much of which I think I actually really saw) and then went to sleep.
And cried.
Again.
This is one of the very, very, very few things that I resent about having had children. Before I had my girls, I didn't cry except rarely. It required an effort of will to weep, especially in front of people. When I went to Sundoor, one of the things that I gave myself express permission to do was to cry if I felt that I needed to cry.
At the time, it was liberating.
But now...
For fuck's sake, I cry at the drop of the hat. I don't know if I stuffed it for so long that I've reached my limit or what. I am slowly finding a way to put a lid on it, because I am not pretty when I cry. The Bean and I cry the same way. We get red and angry. We're not like the Mouse who cries these perfect jewel like tears.
So, having achieved some sort of lid, I'm back to where I was, so long ago. Crying makes me angry.
It doesn't help that I've gone missing from my Goddess and my other attendant spirits. I know they're there. I'm the one who's lost. Not them. I'm the one who's abandoned my practice. I'm the one who has forgotten the feel of the Fire.
Droughts end, I tell myself. Obstacles are surmounted if I don't give up. Mountains are conquered if I continue to climb. Crying solves nothing.
But I can't stop.
I just want gear to fucking work. I want to keep my agreements to all the people I have promised to deliver to. I hate when the World thwarts my will, even though I know that it's way fucking bigger than me and often has bigger plans than I can conceive. It makes me want to scream and break things. It makes me drive way too fucking fast and recklessly.
Right now, I don't fucking give a shit.
And when I get angry, the blades come out.
Is that the best you've got, motherfucking World? You'll have to work a lot harder to stop me. Because the only way you will is to kill me.
Bring it.
I will not fucking stop.
