When I lost my iron-fisted control of my life recently (again, by the way) I had myself a temper fit.
“Fine!” I declared. “Just fine!”
Apparently, I had overreached. Who did I think I was kidding anyway? Trying to rise above my station and all. I had no business getting all uppity and such. No wonder it all fell apart (again.) I had been delusional.
I come from a long line of losers. What had I been thinking? Trying to work a job with benefits and running all over making an ass out of myself thinking I was something I was not. Everybody has a dream job! Most are smart enough to know their places and get back in the kitchen where they belong.
I decided to just go with it.
I bought beer. I bought cigarettes too because I smoke when I drink.
I came home and gave up. Gave in.
No more NPR for me! No more reading the newspaper! Turn on some Jerry Springer and spit or something.
Gonna get a rocking chair for the front porch. Put my hair in a bun. Buy some slippers and a housedress and scratch my ass or something
Throw rocks at kids on the sidewalk.
How, exactly does one lose one’s teeth? Meth? I make it myself? Is the recipe at AllRecipes or Cooks or do I just Google it?
Except…damn. I have the attention span of a gnat.
The beer didn’t work. I would have to go to Walmart for a housedress and meth stuff and I hate Walmart. Regular radio is all Katy Perry, all the time. I can’t stand Springer. My ass doesn’t itch.
I am a failure at failure, too.
Move to a smaller house. Be unemployed. Rest up and recover. Walk the dog. Make dinner. Write for no good reason. Lunch with friends. Gratitude list with my morning coffee. Trust. Be okay.
Somewhere between overreaching and underachieving may be… I dunno. Something in the middle? I’ll let you know but for now, everything is kind of fine.