But Sometimes I Want to Feel Sorry for Myself . . .

. . . but you can't. The world does not allow self-pity. No matter how bad you have it there's always someone worse off and someone else telling you to get a grip. Is it really necessary to be pissed at the homeless? To assume anyone on welfare is gaming the system? To roll your eyes at those with a handicap license plate? I may be better off then all of the aforementioned groups, but it doesn't mean I'm doing so great. Roll your eyes if you want, talk behind my back, assume I'm exaggerating. None of it makes a difference. Sometimes we all need to just feel a little down.

Let's face it, regardless if you're a happy, positive person or if you believe God has delivered his blessing upon you, or you're just a sad, angry atheist pissed at where your life is, we all sometimes have legitimately bad days. So why are we so judgmental when someone veers from the happy facade and admits that no, today is not so great? Can't we get a time out on the fucking positivity and just acknowledge that having pancreatic cancer at 26 or diabetes at 38 or cancer for fucking ever isn't a dream come true? Divorce, heartbreak, loss, and even just a really nasty hangover should buy us a little sympathy, right?

I'm not suggesting you pity me, but just don't judge me because I take a 20 minute self-indulgent writing break or sob in traffic on a rainy day. We get to have our mini-meltdowns, because life throws a hell of a lot of curveballs. If you manage to maintain your sunny disposition, then I'm happy for you and we're all better off for it, but don't write off my right to feel sad or angry or bitter just because. Maybe feeling that way is what keeps me from going over the edge. For you, it's drawing rainbows with a pot of kittens at the end of it, but for me, it's rye whiskey or a bottle of cava and a few self-pitying tears.

Get over it. Life's a melting pot or a box of chocolates or whatever other dumb metaphor you want it to be. The point, is that crazy bad shit happens and sometimes just subjectively bad stuff happens, but either way we're all just trying to survive and I think we deserve a little self-pity time now and again.

I don't know where my life is going, but it's hurtling there at 185 miles an hour and in the few glimpses of reality I get when I'm not torn between love, casual sex, happiness, torment and any other emotionally battering choice, I slow down to wonder when. Not why or how or who, but when. When will it all slow down and make sense? Maybe it never does. Maybe animals and people get mistreated forever. Maybe we never stop hating the homeless for being poor. Maybe we always hate ourselves for not being someone better. I don't know. I'm just looking for a moment to be myself and for that to be okay with the jury at large.

Day 67: Sometimes You Have to Kill a Part of Yourself to Save the Rest

Okay, it's not really day 67, I've just stopped blogging. Thing is, I think all the whining, public disclosure of personal issues, and self-aggrandizing are coming to an end. To quote James Morrison (not of the Doors) "I've got one last chance to get myself together. I can't lose no more time, it's now or never. I've tried to remember who I used to be." There's a life out there that I'm not living, but I need to be and sitting around whining in a blog or waiting for things to happen is not going to get me there. I'm at a point in my life that it is time to make some hard choices. I have to realize that I cannot have everything I want, so I will have to walk away from some and fight for others. The trick here, is to know which is which, or as Kenny Roger's put it "Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."

I think maybe I could live my life by song lyrics, they seem intuitive and wise enough, certainly no worse off than my current style of living has gotten me. So here I am, once again perched tentatively and uneasily at a crossroads and the only thing I know for sure is that I cannot stay where I am. School, marriage, freedom, career, NYC . . .?  There are looming questions and no answers so maybe it's time to take control and to force a few on my own.

I know I blogged incessantly about the husband and my feelings, our separation, my hope to reconcile . . . blah, blah, blah. I'm even annoying myself with the self-pity and emotional wreckage. I love him, yes. I want him back. He's in California thinking it over, basically deciding if he can't live without me. Well, he may love me, but I know myself well enough to know I'm no picnic and anytime someone asks themselves "Can I live without Ame?" The answer that's going to come back is not going to be in my favor. So time for plan B. Should Jeff realize we're happier when we're together and forgive me for all my stupidity and flaws I'll be ecstatic. Until then, however, I have to live a life I am proud of and crying about my sorry life is not it.

I am currently pursuing my graduate degree in Public Administration, specifically Emergency Management. The goal is a government job in FEMA or similar function at a private or subnational government agency. So here's the thing, I can't have a government official google me and find my "spill my guts" blog online. It will kill my chances at a career. I've likely killed my marriage, I'm losing that too. So the blog has to die soon. And not just die, but be deleted from this world. I will have to stifle that side of me that craves a creative outlet and who uses that outlet for personal catharsis. Can I live without it? Sure, maybe I'll journal, who knows. I do know that we all end up compromising in life eventually and I've been living on my terms for far too long. Time to compromise, time to chase not a dream, but a real possibility and if that possibility makes me sort of happy that's going to be enough. At least for a while.

I don't know where I'll be living in five months. I don't know if I'll still be separated or semi-happily married. I only know that I need to make decisions and to stop waiting for someone else to open a door for me. I can open my own damn doors. So here's to picking a path and finding some doors. I'm not sure where it will take me, but I know I can't stay here.