Idle Days of Reflection

It's easy to assume that my days are pretty normal and uneventful. Despite the fact that removing more comfort zones from my everyday life has given me more recent material to color in my creative life. Friday, I wallowed in bed, rueing the natural cycle of womanhood and avoiding any emotional triggers that I know I'd naturally overreact to.

Yesterday, I worked a shift at King's Island. I laid low most of the day, putting together plates of chicken tenders and French fries, a shy smile when people thanked me. They said I could yell back when I was running low, but I always went back to them and politely asked them to make more. Towards the end of the night, some asshole decided to get a hair up his ass about the French fries. It went something like this: he said they were raw, I shrugged and honestly told him they were cooked the same way all night, he mumbled that I was a jerk, I felt myself smirk like I usually do when I'm irritated, this pissed him off enough to assert that he knows what a cooked French fry looked like, I bit back a mental remark on that not exactly being a skill no one else had but instead said I believed him, he mocked me--I shit you not, he actually did that little kid thing where you change your voice and poorly pronounce what the other person said--I looked at my sister, who told me to just stop talking to him, I took a deep breath to calm the adrenaline and went back to tell the chef to handle him, I went out back and smoked a cigarette until the guy left. Now, I could have put this story as separate sentences, but the whole situation was one idiotic run-on sentence. Guy tried to ruin my day, was really just an entitled redneck who didn't succeed. What assured it never got worse was that the chef very calmly told me that I don't have to deal with that at all and could defer to one of the regular employees. Even though the guy tried to say I refused to cater to him, these people I had only worked with a few hours knew that was bullshit and each of them even took the time to tell me they didn't believe him, that they saw I was very courteous, and he was just an asshole. He was yet another shithead that thinks himself better than a service worker because he's on the other side of the counter. And yes, while these people will pretend you're right, each and every one of them is talking about what a shitty human being you are when you leave.

I made some money to go towards my next creative purchase and went home glad to curl up in bed to watch Avengers Infinity War.

Because, yes, today I went and saw Avengers Endgame. Don't worry; no spoilers here. It's a long movie and not my favorite of the Marvel ones, but still has the Marvel Charm throughout. I still enjoyed the time I got to spend with my family and getting to see a movie in a theatre. It's a rare treat that I enjoy more because it's rare.

Still recovering from working yesterday, and I mean this in the purely physical sense. Nine hours on my feet, very little moving around, which only makes me appreciate my three hour waitressing shifts all the more. I don't like to sit or stand very long. I can handle lying down or walking, but since lying down has very little appealing job possibilities, I prefer the walking jobs. I can lie down while I crochet but obviously, the only posture good for writing or drawing for hours involves proper sitting with regular small breaks--if you don't want to end up crippled over time, that is. If carpal tunnel, eye strain, back problems and strain injuries are your cup of tea (if you're just young enough to arrogantly assert that you work in the dark, hunched over, for three days straight and survive off of energy drinks and ramen--enjoy your future health problems, by the way), then by all means, keep telling yourself that bad work habits don't pile up. In fact, lamenting the abuse when you're older will also make you less shitty of a writer so there's still a trade-off.

Don't worry, young'uns, I'm not hating on you--just relating exactly the sort of disgruntled shit older people warned me about and were annoyingly right about. But we all learn the hard way because it's one of those stupid human tricks that we lather, rinse, repeat until we're either wise or one of those sad old dipshits that refuses growth or wearing clothes that actually fit.

I never set out with a point here, but idle days need idle tasks. In this case, a bit of reflection is well enough to feel like an accomplishment. I like this phase of my life. In retrospect, each of them is worthwhile, but in the spirit of living in the moment, this one feels like it fits me best. I pick my battles better. I put my head and heart in better places. My struggles aren't overwhelming me because I give enough of myself that people do know how to help me. I do have some things I'm working out, but I can't imagine a day so ideal that it wouldn't paralyze me in shock. I will always need a challenge to keep me in motion. It's just with hope that I aim to keep them manageable.

Because there is no universal force that only gives us what we can handle. Sometimes we have to pick the right time to fight or flee and forgive ourselves when the response we chose was probably not the best one. What wasn't our best is just a lesson. Although, I might add, that you don't get to forgive yourself the pain you cause others. If you're an asshole, apologize. Whether it's five minutes or five years after the fact, whether they deserve it or not, you don't get to gloat on your failures and absolve yourself. It just makes you likely to repeat the same dumb mistakes because you never properly humbled yourself to the consequences. 

And for fuck's sake, stop posting that shit on social media. Some people leave a trail of their shitty toilet paper crumbs in public spaces and wonder why no one respects them. That. Seriously, if you treat public spaces like a job interview and save the asinine garbage for the angry tear-stained pages of your little handwritten diary with the lock that doesn't actually keep people out, the world would be a better place.

Or keep a blog. So that only the really dedicated will open an outside link to see what you're spewing. Am I ever glad that social media skipped my teenage years so there is little evidence of the dumb shit in my teenaged past. There was at least some time to form the good habit of putting some space between my reactions and what I ended up sharing.