I get it now.
This is my six-toed (on each paw) buddy Simone, who I met at the Hemingway House in Key West. She reminds me of my Maddie, and I wanted to stick her in my bag and bring her home.
So it’s been a month since the “It’s not you, it’s me — oh, wait, it’s you” speech. I’ve spent a lot of time searching my soul for what went wrong and how not to find myself in the same situation next time around. Somehow, I think giving me time to reflect is the worst punishment of all. 🙂
And punishment for what, exactly? My mom is one of those people who assumes she deserves whatever poop on a platter the universe is serving up. Yet I’ve never met a nicer person than her, you know? Like, why would anyone feel that ordering a gyro and getting a shit sandwich instead feel like there must be a reason for that? Oh hell no — it is our birthright to be happy. So, send that bitch back and bring me what I ordered!
The last time I found myself job-free, as the months turned into MANY months, I started to feel that way, though. That damn, I must be a real asshole for the universe to keep punishing me with the prospect of losing what little I had. And I don’t want to ever succumb to that feeling again.
That said, while I wouldn’t say I deserve anything bad, I finally have insight into how things came to be.
I was watching Joel Osteen last night. It blows to be home on a Friday but, hey, a girl’s gotta conserve her resources. And while I was just looking for a fuzzy-wuzzy feel-good message, I got knocked off the couch with something he said.
He was speaking specifically about the workplace, and gave the example of having a crazy supervisor who makes your life difficult. But if you don’t hang in there and let that experience change you, then you will go to another job with TWO crazy people, not just one.
And I snickered at that. Because I see the truth in it. You think you’re running away but then you get a heaping dose.
But that was something I struggled with when I left the Den of Iniquity. At what point do you dig in your heels and wait for God to show you why He put you there, and when do you cry “Uncle!” and run away from the disturbed uncle who keeps psychologically molesting you?
For me, I fell silent at the Den for my final months there. After I dared to question Elvis on why he did something so incredibly stupid that he did, and I got roared at (and lied to) for five solid hours, I stopped asking questions. I slipped out quietly and started my new life.
At my “new life,” I didn’t want to be silent anymore. I was quiet, sure, but based on past experience, I only wanted to be part of battles that I had a chance of winning.
It occurred to me last night when the battle lines got drawn. I can pinpoint that very moment. What I thought was full disclosure turned out to be a choice I couldn’t undo. What others cheered me for, was my undoing.
I don’t blame anybody for that. I can’t. I just wish that I would have spoken up more, if this was how it was going to turn out. I am not sure exactly what God wanted me to learn, but I always felt that I was there to help change others. I guess I failed Him there, too.
Anyway, with all this time to think, my worries are all over the place. I worry about money, sure. Who doesn’t? But moreover, I fear that whatever unresolved baggage I’m left with from the last time around will haunt me next time, the way I never expected the last luggage set to appear at my doorstep once I moved on.
I guess what’s different this time around is that I’ve at least had a chance to analyze, and compartmentalize, so that when I stick this suitcase on the shelf once and for all, I’ll travel light to my next destination.