What brings a person into this reality?
Sometimes, life can really kick you in the fucking pants. Sometimes, life kicks you so hard in the pants, you loose it. Maybe it's your cool, or your glass vase collection, maybe it's your sanity, often times, it's yourself.
Cliché to talk about finding yourself and all that sappy crap I know. I don't want to get into inspirational poop that isn't going to solve the right now shitiness of things when you feel lost or beaten. I don't have lines for you if that's what you may be expecting, because lately that just isn't my shtick. I can no longer look at people with absolute positivity when their world is crashing in on them and they have no clue who they are and tell them some flowery bullshit to make them fell better.
If you are shaking your head in disagreement, tell me one moment when you loathed the earth and everything on it, felt lost and heard that "one line" that "made it all better." It didn't. That moment has never happened anywhere in the time space continuum. It may warm you for a moment, but if you are lost my friend, that sad sack feeling is going to return sooner rather than later.
I am not going to say those things. You know those things. Those things people say to you when you're feeling down, or those phrases people post on Facebook with some stupid sunset or night sky theme in the background. Things like the darkest hour is before the dawn (which technically it isn't) or when life hands you lemons make lemonade (I don't even like lemonade...or juice all together for that matter..). To be honest it all sounds condescending and downright annoying - especially when you hate the world.
So what is this all about really? Well, it is about a few changes that recently occurred in my realm of existence that pretty much made me go from comfortable and complacent with bursts of good to crying daily, eating peanut butter out of the jar at 3am nightly and often yelling out "I hate my FUCKING life" while driving, texting or generally interacting with other people.
The really annoying part to me deep down, was that none of what happened was all that bad in the scheme of the world and in the sadness and loss I have felt and witnessed. I am not dying, no one I love is dying, I have a roof over my head and three (sometimes rather large) squares a day. I have finally found a loving man and have a job that pays enough for me to occasionally eat my face off at a local sushi place (which on a side note has had several health code violations but I enjoy playing food poisoning Russian roulette).
Shit is not that bad to the outside world, but in my heart it has been awful. It all started by me making a poor choice, which was to make no choice in my favour at all. I moved, which as previously written was an "exciting new chapter" I was going to start.
It is not that I didn't want to live with my boyfriend or I question if he is for me, it's that his house was in a farther town, a town I never liked. I despised commuting far to work. I disliked the road rage it brought out in me, the money it cost in gas, the time I felt it stole from me and the environmental impact on the world it creates. I was single and living on my own for many years, I didn't want to let that go just yet. To boot, I never wanted to live in a house that he (my love) shared with his ex wife once upon a million years ago.
The move was rough. The adjustment almost killed my relationship. I wanted nothing more for the first month I moved, than to hop in my car, return to my rental and boot out the landlords son so I could take my life back, the one I was so comfortable living.
The worst part of the move, I lost one of my cats. I had two, one I have had for almost a decade, and my new kitty, a stray I fed and took in when she had kittens. A kitty that I fell in love with, that I couldn't give up once I knew it was time because I already placed her in my heart. She got out, got away, and of course got pregnant again (I had plans to fix her after the move). Then, I found her, but by this point I was almost a week into my new place in my new town and my poor allergic boyfriend could barely breathe with one cat in the house.
I made the saddest choice I have had to make thus far, I had to give up my cat (to a no kill shelter) to ensure her safety, her unborn kittens safety and my boyfriends health. It left me with my 10 year fat companion, but it stole my fluffy new one. I have never thought it was right to give up on a pet, I did it for love, sacrifice and compromise. I balled my face off for weeks. I had nightmares and guilty thoughts and hated it all.
I did not take that decision well either, and I sabotaged my relationship further by ranting and raving and not making the sacrifice with any form of dignity or responsibility.
I lost my independence, I lost my comfy home with my stuff all where I wanted, I lost my short drive to work, I lost my neighbourhood friends and family grew farther in distance, and to top it all off, I lost my fucking cat.
Then folks, the inevitable happened, I lost my job (kinda).
Let's rewind for a moment here if we can, because the slow descent into madness had levels. The moving in level was great, blissful till the cat was found then lost. I turned sad and angry very fast. I was comforted by the thought that I was doing something for someone I love dearly, but that faded and didn't hold water the moment I pictured my cats cute little face or turned on my phone to see her in the background.
I cried everywhere, including the grocery store because I made the mistake of naming her after a food item, because why wouldn't you name your cat Pesto.
Life had somewhat imploded on me and I was struggling to keep a positive attitude. I decided in the midst of all this was a great time to quit smoking. WRONG. I arrived back to the group home I work at one afternoon to be greeted by a message to meet my boss downstairs.
Now folks I have been fired before, and I can tell you it was unexpected, wrongful and outright traumatic. It was exactly 24 hours after my boss had given me a glowing yearly review. I sat across from her and she looked upset; as though she had just cried in a bathroom somewhere (other people do that I hope.) She handed me a letter, and said she had bad news. I heard "deficit" here and "not for profit" there and suddenly I was being told my co worker was being laid off, and the position contract I was in was being cut. I sat there stunned and asked what this all meant.
I was in a contract position at this time, and I held a permanent spot otherwise. It gets a bit complicated where I work because we are a union not for profit organization. After being assured that I was only going to see a change in shift hours and I would not loose a thing, I sauntered off to console my co worker.
Union, seniority and what have you trickled down slow. Over the course of a month I did indeed loose my contract, then lost my permanent position by being bumped out due to seniority and then had to bump out a friend from her part time position. It killed me inside, I watched my clients suffer as burnout spread and I turned into a crying sad sack shadow of my former self.
Boo hoo for me right? Kinda. Low point? Kinda, because the low points I have been hit are somewhere between six feet under and China I cannot say this was my worst. As my work life continued to kick up dust and anger in an environment where staff were feeling abused, my relationship at home started to crumble. I had no safe place to go anymore, I was floating out in the abyss like Homer in the end of the Simpsons space episode (if you don't know this reference we may need to reconsider any possible friendship).
I started to hate my job. I became less bubbly, less fun, and turned into a robot who came home from work, hit a shot of vodka and called it in for the night. I started back on the smokes, and found myself adrift.
I would like to say that something magical happened in the shit pile that was my life, but it didn't. Life just plain sucked mega sweaty balls. I decided fuck the happy quotes, I had to do something about this insanity.
I did something I rarely do, I reached out. I told people I was down, I called my friends and requested laughs and a shoulder to help me through it all. I started to paint again, write again, and put out items of mine around this new place to comfort me home. I played with my nephew and niece, I got my fishing licence and started fishing, I took two weeks off this summer and said YES I will have another slice of pie.
It didn't fix the shitty, but it sure made it smell better. Like a match after a taco inspired poop, I changed my spatial reality. I am in the middle of two well earned weeks off, and I love my life again. It may never be perfect so why not have fun on the way?
Sounds like a stupid happy inspirational saying doesn't it?
But why the elephant costume? Well that friends is a sign I figured it all out.
I just returned from a yearly trip I make with my mom and three of her friends to the glorious Muskoka region. We meet each year and these strong wonderful women who are 55 plus allow me, a lowly 33 year old into their party.
I laughed so hard partial peeing of pants may have occurred. I am never one to shy away from putting on a show, and this year one of the ladies asked me on a quiet afternoon by the lake if I would put on an elephant costume they found to surprise my mom.
Of course I said yes, and glasses of wine into the evening I found myself doing the running man and pole dancing (sans pole) in an elephant costume all the while not knowing what I was wearing. My short lived time as a mascot (lifetime goal) was beautiful, and there is video out there to prove it (stay tuned youtube). I was just being me and I felt like for a moment happiness can simply trickle through the dark if you just try.
I like lessons, so what's the lesson here? I will turn to Monty Python for some help because they sang it better than I can write....
Life's a piece of shit, when you look at it.
Always look on the bright side of life.
UPDATE:
The crazy part to bring it back to the now, is that my boyfriend had an allergy test done. He is allergic to pretty much every food item I cook with, the same ones I started cooking with when I moved in, and the ones who really caused his stuffed up red eye allergic misery. The moment he figured this out, he told me I could get my Pesto back, which I immediately did.
