It's terrible that 1 bad event can lead to sad feelings, which makes one susceptible to moodiness and weak character, thereby rendering one utterly despondent, bitter and mean. At least I've heard this sort of thing happens. To other people. Sometimes. I suppose if a succession of sad, bad, mad and disappointing things were to happen for months on end, maybe even years, it could become quite debilitating. Other people might see it this way.
Recently I was kindly and gently informed that I was not wearing a flattering style of jeans. Really, it was kind and gentle and the sort of thing you might wish to know before you walk around town looking larGER than you are. Superficially, this could be a
The jeans. See, I do not like the low cut jeans and even when I was smaller than I am today, I still balked at the idea of spreading cr@ck. I have seen "well-dressed," mature(?) women sharing way too much of themselves every time they stoop, reach, and stretch. And not just booties are hanging out, it's the muffin tops too and maybe people are cool with letting whatever show and hang-out, but I cannot do it. It makes me cringe and wince and think more kindly of burkas, every time I imagine wearing what passes for fashionable. So I bought men's Wranglers... I said to heck with sizes and styles and statements and paying grocery prices for one pair of pants. My Wranglers are comfortable, affordable, durable and... and apparently they make my butt look big(ger.) Ugh. I can act all who cares what the world thinks? but in reality I care a little too much.
My wardrobe consists of a skirt and 2 pair of black yoga pants and some button shirts that need serious consideration for the donation bag. I managed to stain 2 more of my T-shirts, and it's too hot to wear my red overcoat. Yesterday I sorted all of the clothes in the boys' closets and happily made-off with a T-shirt that reads Bring Back Nap Time, and while I love it, I thankfully have the sense not to wear it outside of the house. My summer shoes, red and super-comfy, are 4 years old and it shows. And I suspect the words super-comfy are not the leading adjectives in the well-dressed woman's lexicon. My brown shoes, with a heel and less comfortable, are older than the red shoes. I can see I need a transformative shift in attitude and action. Is awareness a first step?
Lately I say things that make Geoff pause. He looks up from his laptop and our eyes meet. His are questioning and a bit surprised, and I answer morosely, "What? I am bitter and mean." I think it's an important to distinction to say "bitter" before "mean." It implies, I hope, that the meanness stems from the bitterness. I am not purely mean. I do not possess innately mean qualities, but I have been accumulating strong feelings of resentment, grief, disappointment and frustration, marked by cynicism.
In the great national debate over the woes of the housing market and whether or not we should help struggling families, save homes, and restore order... I come out on the side of Hey! Hey, who are we helping? People who live within their means, people who gave up luxuries and saved in order to survive the ups and downs of a free market... are those the people government bailouts are saving? Or are we saying to Countrywide's chairman, "Dude, take your $200 million gains and income, and retire when your shady deals and leading customers in to financial ruin come to light. It's cool. We the people got your back, while you knife ours." It's a mess. Who can say what will fix this, but I wish we were at least at the point when we could read the whole truth on the front page. Quit twisting the facts and rewriting the formula. This is a recession, there is real inflation, jobs and salaries are hurting... argghh.
Argghh. Feh. Sigh those are my fallback statements when I run out of steam, when I can't think of what to say or what to do. I think it's kind of funny, maybe embarrassing too, because it doesn't say much for my college education to make such heavy use of such weak sentence enhancers. LOL. (That's irony. I recognize that.)
We lined up 6 houses to see with an agent, and I drove far, far away to meet the agent, but his car overheated and he cancelled. Now 2 of the homes have offers on them, 2 of them the seller doesn't want to show, because they have nothing to gain, since the bank is taking over. Geoff showed me 2 more houses... one has no kitchen, the owners took it with them, and the other has no back wall along the entire house... I sense a little bitterness there too.
Another time I Sigh? When something good happens, when I reflect on life's little miracles and the unexpected joys, the treasured moments, I sigh. Garybob called. Our not mean, but certainly bumbling and always convenient scapegoat for my frustration, landlord called and asked for the lease agreement. I was already so sad about Amelia, housing, fatness, etc., that he caught me in a moment of weakness. I wish I could say it was a moment of strength and resolve, but I was essentially defeated and raw, so when he said: "Is there anything you need to say or ask?"
I blurted, halfheartedly surrendering, like a mother in the trenches raising white granny p@nties, "Chickens."
He said, "Oh. What?"
It was too late to pretend I sneezed, so I said meekly, "We have chickens."
"Hmmm. In the backyard? You have chickens in the yard?"
And that was it. No admonishment. No threats. No drama or demands or eviction threats.
Let's suppose that 1 good event can lift our spirit, give us pause, make us grateful. Maybe a small sigh of relief can lead to deeper breathing and clearer thinking. It's possible that happiness may spread and disperse like seeds in a breeze, and new happiness can grow. Certainly we have had too many setbacks and genuine causes for grief, but I am open to good news, I am receptive and eager to enjoy triumphs, success, hope and clarity. If I have to climb and struggle or sometimes just surrender, then so be it, but I will not ride all the way down the spiral.