Pardon my French, but as I gathered up my still-hot morning coffee and trudged angrily back into the house just a few minutes ago, this came spitting off of my tongue: “Fine, neighbors, I hope you come out for your f*cking morning bong rips and can’t take them in peace because my f*cking dogs are barking their f*cking heads off!”
I muttered this little bit of eloquence because it’s inevitably THEIR f*cking dogs that are instigating the barking of every other f*cking dog in the immediate area, including mine. F*ck!
I also picked up a couple of tennis balls and dog toys and threw them–bitterly, awkwardly, and, as my dad would say, “like a girl”–at the back fence, temper-tantrum-style.
There are things I love about my life. I love my husband. I love my flexible work schedule and sometimes even the work itself. I love my family. I usually love my dogs. I love the occasional fun things we do, like concerts and camping trips. I love it when I get to have my morning coffee in the back yard in f*cking peace and quiet. As I’ve said before, and so you don’t start lecturing me about “counting my blessings” and all that, I love that we all have our health right now, etc., blah, blah, blah….
…but everything else seems to be driving me nuts, and I find myself uttering the ugly phrase, I hate…, more than is probably acceptable. Growing up, my mom impressed upon us the magnitude of that word, hate, and the harsh negativity of it. Nobody in my family ever said, “I hate you,” in anger to each other, for instance, like people seem to all the time in movies and on TV, and, apparently, in real life. Still, in recent days I have hated my house, hated where I live, hated my work, hated our finances, hated my life…hated myself.
Hated myself because I realize that I am the one and only person responsible for my life and how I feel about it. Hated myself because sometimes it seems like just about every decision (or lack thereof) that I’ve made in my life has been a dumb one. Hated myself because, instead of changing things, I just keep trudging through and maintaining the crappy status quo. Hated myself because the universe has power floating around in it for me to summon and use to change my circumstances, but inevitably a nap with the door closed sounds like an easier solution.
There is so much about my life I want to change that I don’t even know where to start. A couple of times in the past I’ve just picked up and moved somewhere–Portland, OR; Japan; Jackson Hole, WY–and sort of hit the Reset button, which has had the effect of awakening me a little bit and giving me some nifty experiences, but still, I have never really had any clear goals in my adult life. Besides, I’m not planning on picking up and moving away right now. It’s not just me I’m dealing with anymore. When you have made a commitment and married someone, it becomes important to include that person in your life plans.
The thing is, “that person” seems pretty happy with things as they are. It’s not like he’s had any clearer goals in life than I’ve had. He’s just naturally content with life and always seems to be enjoying himself in whatever he does.
Oh, to be one of those people. That would be a good goal, I suppose. Just enjoy life! It’s easy! Lots of people will cheerfully tell you to “just smile! Be happy!” They think they’re helping, but really all they’re doing is risking a light blow to the head with a blunt object (like a dog toy, say, or a tennis ball). Those people haven’t lived in anyone else’s skin, haven’t experienced anyone else’s brain chemistry or natural inclinations, so they don’t realize that it’s not that f*cking simple.
If I’ve got nagging thoughts about the bed of my life being uncomfortable, it’s not, to me, just a matter of grinning like an idiot and bearing it. It’s a matter of identifying steps to take to change the way the bed is made.