Bow Down, Bitches

August 25, 2016

Aw I have 3 kids and no money. Why can't I have no kids and 3 money? -Homer Simpson

I have never had quite enough money to support my lifestyle without some difficulty and this here post is a slap in my face to quit using that as an excuse to embellish the bad stuff in my life because I already done tooooold myself that that causes nothing but a boil on the butt of my contentment. And so, on this day, when I would truly prefer to be in the Swiss Alps, a proclamation: My life is my QUEEN and I need to learn to treat her that way. Should I fail to so, some organ, like a kidney, shall be flogged and, somewhere in the world, Sally Field, overwhelmed with her grief, will make Dolly Parton cry and lash out at Ouiser. Ultimately, it will all end in laughter because Steel Magnolias is a great movie, but I will be gone. I don't want that to happen, so I will drink my juice.

But what am I even rambling on about in this mess of pop culture references that will one day render these musings as useless as the scrunchie? Listen here because I bet you do this too. Whenever I have a story to tell, I have always tended to emphasize the worst parts of it. I can't think of an example, but you KNOW what I mean. Implied meanings, mentioning the tone in someone's voice, how they looked at me - all part of it.

Until recent years, I had no idea I was even doing this or the effect it has had on my delicate psyche, which gets the vapors at the mere mention of some bingo hall drama. The more dramatic, the better. Of course, I still do this, but I am aware of it and am getting better at figuring out why I do it. Why is it so common to have a tendency to shift the focus of the things that happen to us to the negative? Why embellish the worst of our one and only life? Our lives are cars that we keep gliding around like bumper cars and then park under a tree full of birds to bear the burden of being relentlessly shat upon. Or, like a humongous mansion, but it has some moss, and maybe a several, very macabre ghosts, and the ceiling keeps leaking, so it must be GARBAGE.


Yet, there isn't a thing in my life that I shouldn't feel pride for. The ball of hair that has set up a welcome mat behind my bedroom mirror, the bulky mouthguard I wear to save my teeth from the terrors of my subconscious, vicious grinding (if only my life showed the results of my grinding as well as my teeth do. -sigh- NO. NONE OF THAT), the too-tall kitchen table I built because a new one would have been a luxury, my beauty student hair coloring, the time I made sure a crappy driver saw my angry eyes and my fist shaking like old Mr. Nebercracker telling him to get off his lawn, or my gosh darn tendency to get clammy-ass hands and shake like a circus tent in a twister when a group of people direct their attention towards me. All of these things are things I have wished, at one time or another, to not have to deal with, but they are my life and my life is who I am.

No one escapes the unfair nature of reality. So, why complain about it so much? Why foster the feelings of unfairness if we truly do everything we can to get what we feel we do deserve and then focus on the best? There are people with more money who make travel and luxury look like an entitlement, but that is just not what life is for everyone. And my life is no better than my occasional perception of it. I need to show some pride. Because I can't travel and feel buyer's remorse for groceries, I trash it. That has to stop.

Once again, I shall take a page out of the book of Bey and be the queen I know is in there somewhere. Polish my little rhinestone crown and file down the empty brackets where the rhinestones have fallen out, fix up my throne posture, eat cake and champagne for breakfast and stuff.

Someone said to me recently, "It's nice that you still like someone who thinks you're stupid." And while that is true, it made me realize that my life has been centered around existing every day in a frame of mind that allows me to brush those unflattering opinions off. But where does that really get me? My ego needs more, but why? What, if not smart, am I resting my confidence in? What do I think my personal legend will be if not to fit in amongst a somewhat excusive crowd of smarter people? I honestly don't know, but that is exactly why I don't care to subscribe to life-bashing anymore. This life is who I am, I'm a grown woman, and I am going to stop complaining about it. Maybe no one wants to read my writing or hear me sing or inherit code I have written, but goddamnit, I feel proud of my life nonetheless and that is what I am going to focus on from now on.


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