Earlier today, I remembered I had a blog.
That’s not to say that I actually forgot. But sometimes, the realization escapes me. And then a need for expression takes over. Often, blogging is an excellent means for venting. Today, it feels like a godsend.
From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, several little nuisances slowly elaborated into a serious need to vent. Many of these nuisances came into existence according to the actions of my niece and nephew. Although I love them dearly, at the ages of five and six, these two have an ability to make patience a task. It didn’t help the situation that I had just spent an uncomfortable night sleeping in one of the most awful positions possible for a back and neck. My morning had begun with aching joints and enough noise to make a house party envious. Okay, perhaps I’m exaggerating the noise, but the screams of giddy children seem to bring some kind of exaggeration into play. And then they ate all the breakfast. Followed by the replacement breakfast. Then, an email I received reminded me of the pleasant realities I’m currently facing: a new city without a job, an issue at school that might require me to change my degree program and therefore forfeit financial aid, and an overwhelming sense of “pause” currently placed on my life’s ultimate goals. Basically, I could tell a moment was coming.
It wasn’t going to be one of those overwhelming moments when, in mind, a levee breaks, and emotions flood like unconstrained currents. This was more of a slow leak. But everything that is displaced has to go somewhere. This, I’m sure, is some basic principle of physics, although I barely managed the high school class with a low C. My slow leak of emotions was moving into a bout with “fuckedry”.
(A quick note about “fuckedry”: “Fuckedry” is that feeling when every adjective to describe everything is, with unabashed bias, the word “fuck”. Life is fuck, and all the people in it fuck. Bills you can’t afford to pay are fuck. Stupidity is fuck. Even the very thought of thinking leads to a harsh, debilitating fuck. “Fuckedry” is not the greatest of moments. And so, I digress.)
It was during a mental adult tantrum that my mind grafted an uplifting thought from the waves of self-pity. Even when life isn’t where you want it to be, living has always been at the discretion of the liver. I know that this sounds like a bad saying from some stale fortune cookie, but it makes sense. Quality of life may not always be in your hands, but the quality of living, or how much you enjoy your life, will always be in your hands. Getting pissed off by little things, and even depressed about the major things, only subtracts from quality living. And subtraction is the last function I want to be doing these days. I’m trying to multiply my opportunities and add a whole lot of happiness. It’s hard to do that if I’m somewhere moping.
After this quasi-epiphany, I felt a lot better. I could smile a bit more. And a few little nuisances every now and then didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Besides, they remind me of the most awesome place to vent in the whole wide world.
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