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.

Selfish

Me. I'm selfish. I'm proud of that because I'm not using it in the same vilified sense that it gets injected into an insult.

My work comes first.

Also something you're probably not getting the context of because I haven't established any. I'm not one of those people that lives to work and the 8-hour work day is not the most productive once you look into it. Sitting at a computer all day is also a bad idea. Those 10 minute breaks every hour where I seem like I'm idling or procrastinating (when I'd rather be writing or drawing)-- those are there for the sake of this ideal of actual productivity.

It's true enough that most days I spend about 10-12 hours easy on work but it's all spread out over my waking moments (and sometimes perched around a nap when I'm really failing at real productivity). I don't ever take real vacations, but I play pretend and intentionally use that infuriating little 'stay-cation' word with a shit-eating grin to show you I know exactly how annoying it is.

I raise my nephews. (Like a boss.) I walk two hours a day. (Like a boss.) I have a social life so rare, it's still mooing.

(Like a cow.)

It's cool. I love the little guys, I don't hate walking, and I also have the coolest most understanding friends who get what creativity entails. They've all seen my room and wonder what Narnia vomited its idea of interior design into such a small space. 'Selfish' is what it took to chase the dream, but I've sacrificed. I pray to the tech gods that my shit won't break because I'm pretty broke and nothing is easy to replace. I miss when I could just go ahead and call someone up because I'm bored and I want to hang out with someone. Most days, my head is so into what I need to do that I plan social visits just so I can be sure I'm actually present and NOT thinking about what's waiting at home.

Work comes first, but to be honest, first place isn't a static factor or at the least, a lot of things share it simultaneously. It's possible to feed a hungry nephew while daydreaming what I stopped writing about and it's oddly possible to have a conversation with them sometimes while drawing (although it's also very likely I'll let slip what I'm doing in PhotoShop instead of what I actually meant to say). It's not exactly the most coherent or fully present version of me but it's a compromise. There was a time I'm not particularly proud of where I'd yell at any interruption or use the possibility of being interrupted as an excuse not to work at all. My nephews are at least old enough now that they're polite about interrupting and even supportive of what it takes to do it.

Gone are the days of putting myself last. It's not just society that makes women feel like it's okay to be self-sacrificing in terms of domestic or nurturing instincts-- sometimes it just exists in us and it's something we have to correct if it doesn't align with our ambitions. Women are encouraged plenty to embrace their nature and we can access self-empowerment without permission so I never blamed men or society for retreating into instincts against my primary ambitions. I also don't regret not going to college sooner or being who I've needed to be to balance raising kids and still being a creative powerhouse. I don't pretend my life is harder or easier than it is and I own the ups and downs. I'm okay with not fitting into liberal or conservative boxes. There are more than enough breeders and homemakers and laser-minded career bitches, etc. Human survival is not at risk for lack of any type of person. I'm okay with swatting flies coming at all sides.

Women like Christina Hoff Sommers exist. Level-headed and self-possessed people who operate with integrity, who push ahead with a clear voice and infinite patience. We live in a country that doesn't quite understand that true acceptance is within and too often it's an outcry for more boxes and less actual freedom of choice for anyone. It's less about respect and more about power/control over strangers. Expectations for the world around you are becoming the greatest source of misery in a country that should actually be flourishing. Who we project ourselves to be is just as vital as who we are. I can't tell you how often I see people completely baffled that they aren't seen as good people because they have 'good hearts' when they actually aren't aware that outwardly, they're projecting their worst defensive traits rather than their ideal. You know, like the 'nice guys' that feel entitled to the world's most 'beautiful' women simply by virtue of having a penis. Lack of self-awareness and entitlement is an ugly trap.

I get how hard it is to be yourself and I'm going to deviate from my original topic a bit because this just in: sometimes people suck. Today, I had to be polite to a man I wanted to punch in the face. I was out walking and saw this guy ahead of me, so I didn't think much of it. I turned down a street and no one was behind me-- until I noticed a shadow picking up speed behind me. I was almost immediately afraid because it was the guy who had been walking ahead of me before but I smiled despite the urge to scream 'creep!'. Not only did I thank him (with clear reluctance and no smiling) when he said I was 'cute' but I gave yes or no answers when he was asking personal questions because the details weren't really any of his business, but I wasn't sure if it would be safe to look away. I hated it, but I also didn't know what kind of psycho I could be dealing with who thinks approaching a strange woman like this was okay. I kept trying to put my earbuds back into my ears in a nervous gesture to signal I didn't want to talk but instead he asked me if I wanted to make five dollars. I had no idea if this was about drugs or sex but I doubted he really thought I was 'cute' but just trying to flatter me into doing something I didn't want to do (and I was insulted that I looked like I'm hard-up for five fucking dollars, possibly). I sped up past him and still I could hear him trying to press me to change my mind. In my mind, all I could think was 'go the fuck away' and' please don't stab me'. Or worse. I wasn't entirely convinced broad daylight or even the risk of neighbors coming to my aid was a deterrent at this point.

I was never more relieved when he gave up, but for the rest of the walk, I kept looking behind me and I never really relaxed. I didn't go home though. I was angry and I didn't want this to mean I'd be too afraid to leave my own house. Look, anything can happen out there. I'm always aware of that. Because of that, sometimes we don't survive by being 'real.' We have to forgive ourselves for what we lose sometimes to see another day (or greet another day without the shame of regret for what we didn't do). There's no manual, and we can't 'have it all' but coming up with a strategy for self-acceptance and survival is worth it. Locking yourself up in safe spaces isn't going to keep you safe from it all either, so risks are necessary to properly understand what is worth trying for.

Writing and drawing, they have their ups and downs too. It can be maddening and isolating if you are able to lock yourself away into it. People see working up to full-time writing as some utopia but it can be abused to self-destruction too if you don't exercise boundaries with it too. You can have too much of a good thing. You can lose a good thing if you take it for granted. Such is life.

Enjoying selfishness is a responsibility, but one you don't have to feel guilt for. Regret? Now there's something that can haunt you. Before I learned that missed opportunities aren't always the end of the world, I knew the sting. It's also useless to let them stick around rent-free. Writing does give me a good place to channel them, but writing is also not about me. Once I pass the baton to a character or a story, it's not about telling my story (because some of it is just not that exciting)-- it's about telling their story and detaching from the consequences and triumphs alike. At some point, I'm just their completely useless therapist, cashing in on how well I turn their life into a book.

Benevolent. Selfish. Hard-working. It's whatever. Just do what it takes to like yourself.

I blame the cow with the incredible hair.