Yesterday was, by all standards, routine. Vanilla. Ordinary. Blah.
And, yet, it brought several of those moments of “Whose Life Is it Anyway?”
Started off the day with yelling, as usual. Eased into the new comfort-disappointment cocktail. Slid into the boringly familiar. Flirted with the mildly annoying. Ended with “WTF just happened to me here?”
And I wondered exactly when I am going to be able to leave it all behind and write my trashy novels like I always said I would.
It’s all about perspective (mine) and between a home situation that disintegrates at the rate Brad Pitt gets younger in “Benjamin Button” and external situations that are great if you’re into routine (and that routine spans the spectrum between warm fuzzies and homicidal rage), well, I can see why I shove my head up my ass regularly. La la la, if I can’t see it, it’s not there. La la la.
Of course, a cold splash of reality hit me square in the face over a plastic cup of Oak Grove pinot grigio, as I inadvertently crashed my old department’s Christmas party (*sniffle*) and I realized, where they’ve shoved me now, is into just another cubicle at just another company. And even though I was welcomed as an ex-officio member of the team, I realized again how awesome, caring, nurturing, loving and generous my old team was. And how my move upstairs is a total downgrade.
I wondered, when I worked for the awesome team, if everyone knew how good we had it. We knew. We loved it. Outsiders treated us like three-headed martians most of the time. I don’t know if they were jealous or, more likely, they just figured we were all a bunch of weirdos who spoke “twin language” among a dozen of our own people.
I’ve been either kidding or comforting myself that this reorganization would blow up in everyone’s faces and we’d go back to the way we were.
Then I look around at home, which is just never going to get better, in its present state. I was thinking about last New Year’s Day, how I made reservations at a moderately upscale place. How the roomie declared she wasn’t going, but that I could go by myself. How I canceled and sat around hungry all day.
How did I ring in the new year? By wishing I was dead. How did I spend the year? Dying.
I made reservations for Christmas Day. And I don’t give a fuck if I’m eating by myself, I’m getting dressed up and going out.
I think what I’ve avoided doing in these and one other area of my life, is put my little foot down and provide my list of demands. Sure, I’ve tried. Usually through thinly veiled sarcasm or the grapevine or in a very loud tone of voice. But I’ve gotten next to nowhere with any of it.
And I’ve done the best I could for me, which is to live my life. To lose weight (minus these damn Christmasy temptations!) — down 43 pounds so far that I haven’t sabotaged! (Let’s not talk about what I HAVE sabotaged. …) To give my very best to every work project. To go out with friends at least twice a month. To actually do that “dating” thing again. (And to let people settle for what they’ve, well, settled for and not take it personally.)
But it’s not enough. It’s a running start, yes, but not enough.
I’ve got to wonder about that new Jim Carrey movie, “Yes Man.” I think we all learn to say no to opportunity because so many people and entities are altogether too happy to say that word to us. (“Move out.” “No.” “Can has moar monay?” “No!”)
Anyway, there’s a new year waiting to be rung in. This one was probably one of my personal best, although any of you who’ve been with me through it probably think my standards are waaaay low. 🙂
But if I can match my current weight loss and also gain back a bedroom, and maybe find something interesting to do with my life (any part of it. Or all parts of it. Whichev), then THAT will be a victorious year.
So, bring it, 2009. Odd-numbered years are always the kindest to me. Show me what you’re made of, and I’ll do the same.