Thursday, March 17, 2011

Happy St. Patrick's, or, I've Been Remiss

Last night, I was busy stewing in a smorgasbord of my own irritation, and reading Good Housekeeping, which I'm certain you can picture me doing.

I'm irritated because of Ongoing Life Struggles, plus the fact that I feel like a damned chubby badger who's been hibernating with a crate of Girl Scout Cookies all winter, AND I don't feel overly motivated to Jillian-Michaels-LIFE-CHANGE it right now. Hmph. So there.

Naturally I ran across an article all about Making Happy Happen or some other trite shit. This of course, after I'd seen helpful hints about making my own umbrella stand. TRUE story.

The Happy Happy Shit article basically said that I should do things I know I need to do (exercise, avoid face-punching) every single day - and that way, I'll keep doing them. Well holy hell what nice advice, am I right? I realized sadly that I'd fallen off the "Ima post EVERRRRday" blog commitment! (Somewhere, there are two whole lurkers who are shaking their fists at the screen and saying "WE KNOW! Damn your eyes!")

Basically I've been in a 1. Life situation rut 2. Anxiety eating my brain rut and 3. Creative outlet rut. I haven't really thought of anything to write about or anything interesting enough. Basically my inner mind is a little like this:

whatarewegoingtodo
idontknowwhattodo
ishouldwritesomething
whatshouldiwrite
WHATAREWEGOINGTODOOOOO?!


That's a snake eating its tail right thar. That's what I've been doing since, ohhhh, February when Life Changes tried to kill Your Favorite Writer. I basically obsess about what's bothering me and then work myself into an anxiety-filled tizzy and collapse somewhere twitching until I have to cook dinner. No, not really, but sort of. And yes, yes, Your Favorite Writer is on the meds, as they say. They're working, so I'm functional but not overly HAPPY.

I'm learning, through friends who've gone before me, AND my therapist, that thinking you can think your way out of EVERY situation is a dirty dirty lie. It's the biggest dirty pirate of all, my friends.

See, you think about something and solve it by thinking: if I leave at this time, I'll arrive at this time and can give my kid his lunch AND make the 9 am meeting! Win!

You solved A Problem, and by THINKING! Your brain thinks that you can solve LOTS of problems this way, including things you just CAN'T solve by thinking. Or thinking a lot. Or obsessing about while people talk to you and you don't even hear them because you're SO BUSY THINKING and you don't actually solve diddlydo but make yourself mildly crazy in the meantime. And make people think you have hearing loss.

Not win.

I haven't thought of anything to write either because I've been so busy thinking myself in circles and my life has been sufficiently NOT interesting, so. No writing.

Today, heeding the advice of the Happy Happy Joy Joy article, I thought I'd write - even if it happened to be about writing and/or thinking.

Not to mention, I did YOGA today friends, and as we all know, yoga gives you superpowers. Plus? I got SOOOOOO tired of random people telling me about the end of the world. This happens to me more than you think. Do I look like someone who wants to see you carrying a placard around with "The end is nigh" printed on it and looking all homeless? No. I don't.

Regale me with The Sheen's newest bon mot. Bet me $20 that you can't shoot sushi out your nose. Challenge me to a yoga face off! Who can do a sun salute fastest!

But please, PLEASE don't tell me the latest thing you read on the internet that SURELY MEANS the Mayans were right.

The Black Plague decimated, um, MOST of a continent. People were pretty sure that God was smiting them RIGHTEOUSLY. The end was nigh!...

...Aaaaaand here we are, SIX HUNDRED years later going, oh, yeah, you have plague? A squirrel bite you say? Here are some pills for that. Have a nice day.

I'm not tooooo fucking worried. Why? Because WHY BOTHER. In the meantime, you know, before I'm radiated into a giant mutant pumpkin, or the Secret Government Agencies spy on me and secretly put poison in my 2 gallon of milk, or the world ends in a giant fireball of DOOOOM, I have bills and laundry and two small children who are all "WHERE IS THE SIDEWALK CHALK?!!"

Even if they're right, I don't think that running in the streets yelling about it is going to do much. I'm very Bob Marley about this situation.

Don't worry about a thing, every little thing, is going to be alright.

Or that Kansas song I heard on the radio today: all we are is dust in the wind.

Even if it's toxic nuclear wind.

It's St. Patrick's Day. Go have a beer (a green one hopefully) or do something fun. The Man is sporting his "Fight me - I'm Irish" which he will, and he is, respectively.

I'm writing. And I'll keep writing. Barring any unforeseen world-ending event. Then, you'll have to look for me with my placard, wandering the rubble. "Oops. My bad."

Comments, questions, please don't tell me the world is ending.

0 comments: