Internet, what the holy crap is going ON?! First David Bowie, now Alan Rickman?! That’s bullshit, and I won’t have it. I will NOT have it. I swear to god, if Dame Judi or Sir Pat or – oh my god don’t you even THINK about, you stupid Death Guy – Sir Ian are taken, I’m personally finding you and kicking you in the balls.
I think my death spiral has concluded (until the next cycle). What I need to do is learn to compartmentalize better. Ego defense mechanisms – I have them. I just don’t use them very often or well. And when I do use them, I typically pick the wrong one. I am a mess.
So. Not okay (still, yet again). Continue to make choices that make me go: wtf, Amy? wtf.
I was thinking this afternoon about a photo a friend of mine (who I STILL need to attempt to kill with my cooking, and will as soon as possible) sent me when I moved out in June. It was by one of my favorite storytellers, Brian Andreas, the guy behind storypeople.com:
If I can just keep remembering…THAT…then I think nothing I choose or do will change who I am inherently, at the core of me. Because I have spent a lot (A LOT) of time in my life figuring out who I am, what matters most to me, and so I quite confidently know exactly who I am, at the core of me. And that person is kind, honest, and as-authentic-as-possible. I do not use people. I do not manipulate. I do not hurt intentionally. I am not vindictive. I am neither an ice pick or an emotional vampire. Those are fallacies, and if someone out there wants to go around thinking them about me, poisoning their own soul with a self-indulgently immature grudge, then I say to them what Dorothy’s spirit guide once said to a person who couldn’t let it go:
I also assert any person who believes those fallacies about me is attempting to project their own insecurities and flaws onto my soul and that’s a bunch of bullshit that is not only a waste of their time, but also lets me know they never ever really knew me at all if that’s what they’re choosing to tell themselves. Furthermore, it doesn’t hurt me; it just continues to convince me I need to remain walled off from that particular human being. Forever. Dodged a bullet on that one, good call (for once).
In fact, if there’s anything I truly and utterly dislike about myself, it’s that I’m very much a doormat, and sometimes I agree to things I don’t really want or feel ready for, but I do them because…I want people to like me. I want to feel connected. I want to feel broken, but in a good way, in a way that leaves me wide open to all kinds of (good) people whether society deems them acceptable or not.
But then. In the aftermath, in a swirlage of wtf, amy?! emotions, when I give in to the true Bohemian, free spirit I claim I am trying to move into being, I freak out and back out – sometimes at the speed of lightening with razor-sharp decisiveness, and other times very very slowly and reluctantly. Usually what I do, though, is just build mountains out of molehills in my overthinking insecurities which in turn fuck everything up. I think if I can just stop doing THAT, then I’ll have reached total Glinda-level power. Right now, I’m too effing Dorothy.
Because one other thing I am learning about me (one additional thing I dislike about myself): I hate fear. And yet I am full of fear. Not about who’ll win the presidential election or if a terrorist will slam into me or if I’ll be mugged on the streets of Southwest Atlanta (Southwest Atlanta is like our Compton, I hear…I don’t know for sure, though, because I never go there). You guys, I am afraid of Life, of embracing my inner wild, and just BEING as is. Is it okay to be wild and free like this? is a question I ask myself a lot. I’m a mother, and I’m a this and a that…there are certain expectations of decorum and behavior our society applies to members existing in its archetypal roles, and I am terrified someone will judge me for not conforming though I’m absolutely angry and resentful about being expected to conform.
And when I go into that mode (which is about once every 48-72 hours), I put up walls made completely of fear, absolutely dripping with it. And whenever my fears are confirmed, I don’t even have to think about it: out I haul the brick and mortar and get to work on my wall building.
On the flip/positive side, once I do decide that someone is worth it, they’re in like flynn with me forever. …Except I’m constantly afraid I’ll fuck it up and then I’ll be bereft and hating myself again because I’ll lose them. And so when I do things that freak me out and I constantly spend a lot of time in fear I’ve just fucked something amazing up.
Oh, and! Also? I hate my wrists. I think I have really thick wrists, and I wish I didn’t because I’d like to wear bracelets.
At any rate, that’s where I’m at right now if you can understand my cryptic crap.
So enough of that. I posted something here I think on Wednesday that was just pure-de-crap. I deleted about 10-15 minutes of it posting. It was just…it wasn’t even my usual navel-gazing. It was positively Shakespearean in its drama.
Which is why I’m going to just post a birthday wish list now. My birthday is in 38 days, 1 hour and 50 minutes as I post this. I will be 44 years old. 44! I can’t even do my usual reversal of numbers (you know, telling people you’re the reverse of your age – like right now I’m 34…this birthday will make me my true age, and the next time I can age-reverse myself will be 50. Which I can’t even think about. I will not think about it! It is…no, I will not consider it.) (Though I’ve heard 50 year old women are actually pretty fabulous.)
And please know: I’m only telling you this so you have pleeeeenty of time to get me a really good present. And I needed something happy to write about. Here are some birthday gift ideas:
- Please can I see a play? A live theatre play.
- Wine (duh). Pinot Noir or Riesling, please.
- Please can I eat HERE? I think it looks fun, and I’d really like to have fun.
- A sugar daddy. (Ha, I’m just joking; I’ll pay my own bills and debts.) (Unless you actually do know one.)
- Please can I spend one night HERE?
And then, later, to celebrate the end of February which is my wonky month (I bet you guys are going: February?! Amy, try JANUARY. And December, November, and all the other months of the year), I’d like to go HERE. Because I would also like a mountain trip somewhere (I actually want a beach trip, but it’s cold and I can’t hang out on the beach from dawn til dusk, which I will do. I am not kidding, I am being very serious: I will hang out on a beach from dawn til dusk – I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again and again and again.)
I think that’s it, for now. I thought about asking for someone to pay off my credit card bill, but that seemed too greedy. And I thought about asking for a job in a creative industry that pays me what I make now plus good benefits, a vacation package, and absolute total job security, but that felt crazy.
If I can only have one thing on the list though, I will just take the play. No, wait! Wait! Can I also have this?
a good gay boyfriend = the perfect birthday gift.
sigh. Okay, fine. Wine is good, too. I do need to re-stock.
All right! Okay! Fine, fine, fine! Hugs are acceptable too.
Eventually the winter will end and it’ll be summer again and I’ll have a fresh perspective. Maybe. (Who or where would I be without my inner angst? I mean hello: “Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.” –Kurt Cobain, truth speaker.)
Beyond that, I submit the following illustrations by Brian Andreas to speak for where I am at in my growth process: