The Wonder Files
Time 2021-10-20 11:04:50Web Name: The Wonder Files
WebSite: http://wonderfiles.blogspot.com
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keywords: description: The Wonder Files Monday, August 21, 2006 Trying to Keep an Eye on You I am so tired. Exhausted, really. I think I'm failing again in so many more ways than one. I am discouraged to the point that giving up would be a relief, since sticking with stuff isn't doing me any favors. The one bright spot is a decent infusion of cash that should help me through another two weeks or so.
I don't know what I'm doing. Now I've said too much; I haven't said enough.
It is 3PM on a Friday afternoon in the beginning of summer, and I don't know what to do. I am feeling faintly nauseous and uncertain, and very tired because I have had more bad nights than good ones this week. Maybe I could eat something, but nothing seems appealing enough to actually get up and retrieve (if it didn't actually involve cooking of some kind). I need to earn some cash to balance my bank account ">ennui?
Fancy French words usually annoy me, but ennui seems appropriate. There's a feeling of everything being old, done time and time before, worn out and useless. Nick and the bodger are watching a movie in the den, Tootie has left for a weekend in hell (excuse me, I mean "Chattanooga"), and I FEEL USELESS! I feel like I am too stupidly stupid to ever accomplish anything with my life, so I should probably just lie down and wait for death. That sounds so hilariously teen-angsty and here I am, twenty-four years old; it really is wrong. I'm just so tired I feel that I can't think straight, so why invest any effort into trying to? (Why not just end sentences randomly with prepositions? Let them dangle!!) I am too much trouble for myself a lot of the time.
I am better, mouthwise. Recovery hasn't been as bad as I expected - I was able to eat pizza on Friday night (though it took forever since I had to CUT it into pieces - a travesty!) and there's been zero nausea. The stitches, though, are a different story; sometimes they hurt so bad I want to rip them out because they make me so crazy! It usually happens when it's time for more pain meds and I can just FEEL the nasty bodgers digging into my gums. But only a few more days I were awake until 5AM talking. She kept asking questions about WJBC crazy from the X, I answered her and that usually led to a hilarious/awful/hilariously awful story about my adventures on the mountain. It brought back a lot of hilarious/awful/etc. memories that had totally slipped my mind, good times when I was young and carefree and so, so naive (what am I now? In a word: careworn). Thinking back on those summers is bittersweet, because I had hoped to accomplish so much with my life. I was going to go to Washington and storm Congress, change the world, make a difference, and look FIERCE doing it. I was going to come back as a counselor for WJBC and inspire the gawky, introverted, painfully awkward girls that were myself, and lead a charge on...everything, I guess. I was going to move into an apartment with my beloved twin H so we could be daring and fashionable and awesome together like we always are. The bottom line is that my life was going to be so nonstop amazing and awesome, fun-filled and meaningful, that it would blow my mind and I would be grateful and thank God for the chance to be me. Looking back on that with six years' perspective, I ache for who I was then. I'd like to give her a heads-up, and maybe an apology for the future. We're always eternal in our own minds, and at eighteen it doesn't occur to one that life may not turn out as grand as one plans (or that one will become excessively presumptuous).
I told Tootie that I feel old, that my time has passed. That from 18 to 23 were my prime years, and I wasted them, and now I can't go back and salvage anything. In the hidden place where I keep the sensible me, I know that this is bunk. Life doesn't end at 24 or 30, 54, 70 or even 97. Life is what you choose to make it, what you fashion for yourself from what you've got. Maybe I've only got beat-up odds and ends to work with, but that doesn't mean it's useless or that it can't become something beautiful. And just like weirdly appealing folk art, it might become something even lovelier than you could've imagined.
But at 5AM, the sensible me can be hard to hear.
After six weeks away from blogging, I was surprised that I remembered my password as easily as I did (only took two tries). Thanks to the greedy corporate snobbery of Dell, it's taken all this time and several hundreds of dollars to get the laptop back into working order. Proprietary parts suck.
This morning I got up, got dressed, and got four teeth cut out of my mouth. Damn wisdom teeth. Last night saw me fairly shaky and nervous, but once I was on the road and in the office, everything was fine. I don't remember much at all; the last thing I am sure of is the surgeon asking me if I was feeling good and me saying that good was a relative term, and then him laughing uncertainly. Medical people never appreciate my humor. The next thing I knew, I was in a totally different room with the nurse shoving gauze back into my mouth and telling me to bite down (oh, you wanted me to wait until your fingers were out of the way? Well, say that next time.). I have no idea how I got from one room to the other, because there were no gurneys or exceedingly strong orderlies. Dad and Baxter showed up, and then the nurse ushered us out the side door (I joked that it was because they didn't want the waiting patients to see what they will look like post-surgery). Things aren't bad as long as I stay on schedule with the pain meds, but I can't brush my teeth until tomorrow (today). Insanity!! When I checked my mouth out at home, my teeth were covered with blood, so I took a damp washcloth and did the best I could without getting too far into the back parts. Still: so nasty! I want badly to brush my tongue, if nothing else, and I may. All these so-called rules tend just to be guidelines. The whole "no food or drink after midnight" thing? I had several lovely drinks of ice water between midnight and 11AM with absolutely no ill effects. Food wasn't too interesting, especially since I don't normally eat after 9PM or before 1-2PM anyway. Ah, well. The main thing is that it's over and it's not as bad as I thought it would be, and not being able to talk comfortably is even sort of a blessing! It's annoying when people expect you to talk to them all the time.
Another side effect of the Great Computer Failure of 2006 is that I've been out of work for almost two months now. I thought that maybe it would be good for me and encourage me to spend more time writing either longhand or with my digital typewriter, but I haven't written in ages. I feel stuck, like every idea that my sluggish brain produces is worthless. Now, I fully support the idea that even if an idea appears worthless, you should still pursue it on the off chance that it will turn into something spectacular. Applying that in my own life, however, is another story altogether (so maybe I should write a story on a writer who is stuck and unable to produce?). I think writers are one of the most self-destructive breeds around and not just because of people like Ernest Hemingway. Whether you've been writing six months or ten years, there's still the persistent insecurities that form a Greek chorus in your head, saying that you're doomed to fail because you're just not good enough. I get so jealous of things that I wish I had written and wonder why I didn't write them (probably because I let my insecurities and fears build a blockade to creation). Sometimes I think it'd just be better to be a happy drone that shuffles papers and crunches numbers, and spends eight hours in a fluorescent-lit cubicle. At least the drone is doing something and making money at the same time. I just don't know about myself.
Apart from the typical drama that is part and parcel of belonging to my family, I feel like I may actually be getting to someplace good. I have several projects in the works that will (hopefully) turn out quite successfully, and I'm beginning to make some headway on repairing stupid things I've done. Part of my reading binge of March was Debbie Ford, and she's very big on fixing or resolving the mistakes and situations of the past in order to move forward, and I can dig that. Even though one of my efforts went totally unacknowledged by the offended party, that's okay. My part's done.
Also part of Debbie's (we're like this) philosophy is getting rid of the extra stuff, the excess baggage that weighs all of us down. Accordingly I cleaned out the back of the Surfmobile, stuffed for over 16 months with the detritus of Fall 2004 and all that. Have you ever seen over $500 worth of clothes outside of the mall? That's what was in my car for so long. Since it's too long past to return them for credit, I picked out the nicest ones to go to a local women's shelter, and the rest is either headed to Plato's Closet for resale (hopefully) and a few things I'm holding out for my Janet Jackson reincarnation. I went all out, vacuumed the entire car, plucked out every last bit of trash (two Publix bags full), and would've done the windows, but by that time I was tired. Maybe if Debbie had been around, I could've gotten her to do it. Anyway, following that spree I've staged similar demonstrations with my cherished magazine box, dumping all the back issues of Allure, dating back to 2002 (I'm so grateful for the anonymity of the internet, because it's embarrassing, frankly, to admit that) and random issues of Self, Fitness, and Shape. The Lucky ones I held onto, because I can't let those guys go. So much inspiration and fun! God knows I could use the inspiration to help find the parts of myself I hid away. Isn't it bizarre how we mask certain facets of our personalities because they're not "acceptable" or we don't fit with them? It takes guts to display a trait that's not considered suitable for you. People tend to make fun of overweight women who dress provocatively, as if those women have no right to do so because their bodies aren't as "attractive" as a model or even an average-sized woman. Fat women, fat people, are supposed to blend into the woodwork. Imperfection isn't attractive...is it?
Anyway, I start a new adventure tomorrow (today) that should be not only amusing but productive and perhaps even prosperous. It's under wraps for now, but if things go well, count on a big reveal. Maybe.
Things are better. Brighter. Looking upward. Thank God.
There's a silly-sounding record on right now, whispery and quiet; exactly what I dislike, especially when I'm already questioning myself and my life. In the words of the immortal Mr. White, I want something happy, something peppy, something upbeat. None of this lovers' lament crap. It did, however, provide an especially apt title for the evening.
Last night I stayed up until 5:30 doing absolutely nothing of any real value or worth, either now or in the near/distant future. How did my life devolve into this? I used to have at least a semblance of self-discipline and -motivation. I am motivated right now, but only because I don't want to be found out, I don't want to be caught out loaded down with debt and scrabbling to make payments. I enjoy writing and creating my own reality (most of the time, I guess), but so much of my time is spent trying to realign everyone else's reality that there's just so little time left for me. Or else my stupid body fails again and I need to sleep, or rest, or something equally annoying and time-consuming. That's why the middle of the night is my favorite time, because I'm usually totally alone, but even that's become invaded. (And that worries me, too, because it's not healthy for kids to stay up til one, two in the morning. It's wrong. And why am I the one that has to fix it? Why can't her parents act like parents instead of camp counselors?)
I hate never accomplishing what I set out to do. I'm not talking simple things like washing the dishes (even though I do fail at those sometimes, but clearly there's no longterm philosophical significance there). I'm talking about my degree, my life. So many things have been on hold and I don't know how to move forward, it's like I'm stuck in neutral. (Not that I really know about neutral, being strictly an automatic believer, though I hear 5-speeds can go faster which may force me to look into one sooner than later.) And though I read my self-help and -actualization books and BELIEVE, dammit, BELIEVE, I still feel caught. Last Wednesday's episode of Lost (how funny is it that I'm referencing Lost in a wholly serious, somewhat-metaphysical way?), Hurley complains that the island won't let him lose weight and Libby says, "You wanna change? Then change." If you want a different life, take the steps necessary to get there. Don't stand around here whining and bitching, just MOVE. So why is that so hard? Why am I stuck here feeling eternally exhausted?
One morning over a year ago, I was struggling with worsened depression and trying to find answers for why my body was failing so miserably. I read about something to do with lack of cortisol; one anecdote in particular talked about a woman whose cortisol was so low in the mornings that she was practically dead. Like, a corpse would've had just slightly less cortisol than her. And that thought has stuck in my head ever since, so when I'm trying to wake up but my body isn't cooperating, I think about being practically dead and think, hell no, not today. And I manage to get up and flip the bird one more time. So I suppose I need to translate that to changing my life and moving forward. I could stay here forever, it would be very easy (not necessarily pleasant) but it wouldn't require too much from me. On the other hand, one change could lead to a life of so much more, how can I risk missing that? I have to flip the finger to safety and status quo and mediocrity, simply because I'm terrified of it. I may not feel like I have the energy or strength to take the other road, but as long as I make the effort to get started, I think it'll be okay.
Yesterday my day was interrupted by the status quo, so I had to take off for the regular Saturday afternoon errands. We came home through the village and as we passed several empty storefronts, I remembered how I used to dream about opening my own boutique, carrying all kinds of beautiful, fragile clothes that girls spend hundreds of dollars on. Shoes, too, because what's clothes without shoes? And I'd start my own handbag line, maybe branch out to stylish notebook bags and briefcases. This was something that fed me through many bad days and nights of struggling with my life and its twists and turns, and somehow I just forgot it. Put it away and said I wasn't entitled to it for now.
I get pissed off when I think of how much time I've wasted (or I FEEL like I've wasted). But surely it wasn't all for nothing?
...A day late. Today started out stormy but cleared off by the afternoon (not that I was awake to see the clearing part, but whatevs...). Thus ended a weeklong drought in Atlanta and now ends a monthlong drought for my blog.
(One hour later.)
Distractions. Anyway, the blog drought has been due to computer issues, starting with a bad adapter around the middle of March that was replaced but quickly follow by a mysterious crash on March 27. I had to reformat the entire HDD and reinstall Windows, losing quite a bit of work including current paying projects, but whatevs. Especially since I'm really over them by now and wanting to move onto new stuff. I hate getting stuck in projects, either through chance or my own laziness, and then not being able to escape. I also was the recipient of a bad rating on RAC due to the failed delivery of my goods (due to the NON-WORKING STATE OF MY COMPUTER), but again, whatevs. (My new word, thanks to Trent.) But now, the moment is gone. For now.
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