Springfield area, beware! I have a bad attitude. But knowing is half the battle, right? That's what G.I. Joe always told me just before he and his pals did their freeze-frame laugh at the end of each episode. Plus, I know I can turn things around, because I HAVE THE POWER!! Oh, no, wait... that was He-Man. And what would Jerrica do right now? She'd touch her magic earring, and a whole new persona--not just any persona, though; a rock star named Jem!--would take over. Dang, I wish I had those earrings!
I'm just having a tough go of it this week. Nothing earth-shattering, in the grand scheme of things, but it's been a poopy week, sometimes literally. And it's only Tuesday.
However, I'm optimistic that things will improve. And not just in a "It can only get better" kind of way. No, I know it can get worse. A lot worse. I've been there. I'm not claiming that I'm having one of those weeks. Not even close. There have been no positive pregnancy tests, epilepsy diagnoses, trips to Urgent Care with sick kids, or computer meltdowns. No, I merely have a case of the blah's. I'm in a funk. I need an attitude adjustment.
What's at the root of this? Well, of course there are reasons. I won't bore you with them, though. Nobody likes to listen to someone else's petty complaints. I mean, they're not petty to me, but they sure will seem petty in writing. And then the only thing I'll have to brood about is that I've lost what little credibility I may have had (and that's only for those of you who don't know me well enough to know that I'm not at all credible).
I'm also not gonna blow smoke up your wazoos with a bunch of insincere mumbo-jumbo about counting my blessings and accentuating the positive. I know that's what's required, but I'm just not feelin' it. And I'm not going to insult your sensibilities by pretending like I am feeling it. Sometimes I just need to have a good mope. I'm giving myself permission to have one right now.
That's because I've been liberated.
A wise man that I used to pay on a regular basis for the purpose of him pointing out really obvious things to me (a.k.a., a "therapist") once told me that there's no such thing as perfection. He said I'd never be perfect, but I may just make myself crazy trying to be, so it was really in my best interest to stop trying so hard. Yes, I actually had to have someone say that out loud to me. But thanks to my passing that along to you for free, you can spend your money and lunch hours on other things. You're welcome.
The point is, I'm not perfect. Therefore, I sometimes find myself in a funk for silly reasons. A perfect person wouldn't bemoan the fact that she sometimes has to flush her co-worker's... stuff... down the toilet. She'd just do it and go on with her day. A perfect person wouldn't let a little writer's block get her down, either. A perfect person wouldn't have writer's block, now would she? Nope. She also would never have road rage, even in this town. She'd merely sing along with the radio while reflecting on her beautiful children and loving husband, as the person in front of her drove ten miles under the speed limit, slowed down for green lights, and treated his or her turn signal like something that would negatively impact the city MPG of his or her massive, window-tinted SUV. Smile, smile. Blink, blink.
Even knowing that perfection is unattainable (I'm pretty sure I believe
that, anyway), I still can't help but yearn for it. The wonderful thing, though, is that contentment doesn't require perfection. I CAN be that blinking, smiling person. For one thing, we have the technology (and the chemicals) to make it happen. However, since I'm not willing to be a cyborg or take more drugs than I already do for other medical purposes (riiiiight), it's a good thing there are more options. Like meditation. Prayer. Family (the ones not currently causing the aggravation). Friends (real and imaginary). Laughter. Escapism. Blogging (I suppose). Other people (not me) would include physical activity as one of the ways they blow off steam or pull themselves out of their funks.
And I really will get up tomorrow morning and strive for contentment for at least the first hour of the day, until the efforts to get three children and myself out of the house and to our respective places of daytime tedium work their disgruntling magic.
For now, though, I think I'm just gonna wallow in it. Wallow in my funky funk of a funking funk. I dare any of you to try to stop me.
When I'm not dwelling on my bad 'tude, I like to write chick lit. I also creep around on Facebook way more than is psychologically healthy, but since I decided to replace my therapist with Cheetos and red wine (because they're slightly less expensive), I don't have anyone to point out the obvious to me that I spend too much time on there (Chester Cheetah's not much for dispensing wisdom). Click the links below to see the underwhelming fruits of my college education.
Buy my books!
"Like" me on Facebook!