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mallorys_cameraYesterday: beyond horrible.
At the point at which it turns amusing – and it’s a peculiar quirk of my personality that eventually everything does get recycled as a cheap joke – I suppose I’ll write about it.
In the meantime, I’m feeling marginal and hopeless. So what else is new? I work and work and work and work, and it just keeps getting harder and harder.
I’m not stupid. I have some real skills. I’m presentable. But it’s been impossible for me to find a real job. I spend many hours each day looking and scheming. And the financial end of things is feeling so overwhelming right now.
I wish I was an alcoholic. Or that I still smoked. I feel like doing something horribly self-destructive right now.
I was sniffling about this to RTT on the ride home yesterday and he lectured me sternly: “You have nothing to complain about! You’re not one of the one in six people worldwide who went hungry today!”
Well, I am of course – but that’s only because my response to stress is to stop eating and go all ditzy and anorexic.
“You’re not one of the people in Brazil whose home was washed away by the floods!”
It’ s so weird to hear RTT, the poster child for entitlement, a kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of a small Brazilian Amazonian rainforest, lecture me about social injustice! I mean, it’s good that he’s into this stuff – assuming he’s into it for some reason other than to score points against poor beleaguered Mommy DiL – but of course, in some absolute sense, all suffering is equivocal. That hungry African, that homeless Brazilian, me, even John Edwards at Elizabeth Edwards’ deathbed – we’re all sitting in the same waiting room.
Is what I’m feeling right now “suffering”?
Honestly? Minus the glib jokes I sprinkle into everything, yep: I think it qualifies.
No, no, no, I did not threaten to commit suicide! But somehow – I have no idea how -- the car conversation turned to self-annihilation. “If you ever tried to kill yourself, Max and I would come and piss on your grave!”
“Dear me,” I said. “That can’t be good for the earth and sustainability! Uric acid, tsk tsk.”
“I mean it, Mom!”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You’d be abandoning us.”
“Well, I mean, not that I ever would, but if I did, don't you think it would be a little more complex than that?”
“No, it wouldn’t. We’re your children. Your first obligation is to us. We didn’t ask to be born!”
Well, neither did I, come to think of it…
Called LS whom I hadn’t spoken to since our stressful Europe trip though we’ve been chatting on Facebook. We babbled about all sorts of interesting things for close to an hour and under normal ciurcumstances, I would have been feeling very merry when I got off the phone. But these are not normal circumstances.
I feel like one of Napoleon's soldiers on the French retreat from Moscow: is that snow as comfortable as it looks?
This morning RTT was up at the crack of dawn vomiting, and I have a million small errands to do.
At the point at which it turns amusing – and it’s a peculiar quirk of my personality that eventually everything does get recycled as a cheap joke – I suppose I’ll write about it.
In the meantime, I’m feeling marginal and hopeless. So what else is new? I work and work and work and work, and it just keeps getting harder and harder.
I’m not stupid. I have some real skills. I’m presentable. But it’s been impossible for me to find a real job. I spend many hours each day looking and scheming. And the financial end of things is feeling so overwhelming right now.
I wish I was an alcoholic. Or that I still smoked. I feel like doing something horribly self-destructive right now.
I was sniffling about this to RTT on the ride home yesterday and he lectured me sternly: “You have nothing to complain about! You’re not one of the one in six people worldwide who went hungry today!”
Well, I am of course – but that’s only because my response to stress is to stop eating and go all ditzy and anorexic.
“You’re not one of the people in Brazil whose home was washed away by the floods!”
It’ s so weird to hear RTT, the poster child for entitlement, a kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of a small Brazilian Amazonian rainforest, lecture me about social injustice! I mean, it’s good that he’s into this stuff – assuming he’s into it for some reason other than to score points against poor beleaguered Mommy DiL – but of course, in some absolute sense, all suffering is equivocal. That hungry African, that homeless Brazilian, me, even John Edwards at Elizabeth Edwards’ deathbed – we’re all sitting in the same waiting room.
Is what I’m feeling right now “suffering”?
Honestly? Minus the glib jokes I sprinkle into everything, yep: I think it qualifies.
No, no, no, I did not threaten to commit suicide! But somehow – I have no idea how -- the car conversation turned to self-annihilation. “If you ever tried to kill yourself, Max and I would come and piss on your grave!”
“Dear me,” I said. “That can’t be good for the earth and sustainability! Uric acid, tsk tsk.”
“I mean it, Mom!”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You’d be abandoning us.”
“Well, I mean, not that I ever would, but if I did, don't you think it would be a little more complex than that?”
“No, it wouldn’t. We’re your children. Your first obligation is to us. We didn’t ask to be born!”
Well, neither did I, come to think of it…
Called LS whom I hadn’t spoken to since our stressful Europe trip though we’ve been chatting on Facebook. We babbled about all sorts of interesting things for close to an hour and under normal ciurcumstances, I would have been feeling very merry when I got off the phone. But these are not normal circumstances.
I feel like one of Napoleon's soldiers on the French retreat from Moscow: is that snow as comfortable as it looks?
This morning RTT was up at the crack of dawn vomiting, and I have a million small errands to do.
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 01:46 pm (UTC)