Monday, June 25, 2012

On Revelations at the Carwash and Crumbs

It's time for the uncomfortably candid post of the month.  (no, its not about anything anatomical, damnit.) 
I realized the other day, that I have NO faith.  My trust mechanism must have been really far more damaged than I realized, and really, let's face it - for good reason.  But I have always KNOWN without question, that God exists.  I KNOW God loves me...without question.  But I realized (at the car wash. yes) that I have NO faith in God's plans for me.  So far, I have not been a huge fan of the outcomes of many of the big events of my life.  I am tired of feeling betrayed and disappointed.  Notice I said "feeling", and not "being".  I allow myself to feel betrayed because I allow myself to BE betrayed. And truthfully, betrayal is a rather subjective thing - it is a feeling. I have not quite wrapped my head around this yet, but I know its true.

Fundamentally, I question my worth.  On the one hand, I KNOW I'm pretty cool and awesome and neat.  On the other hand, I have always always always allowed other people to determine my worth -  By how they treat me, how much they pay me, how they love me, how much attention they do or do not pay to me, how often they call me, how they kiss me, how they respond to me.  Many, if not all of those things are reflections of the other person, not of me. 

I stand here, in my life, and WANT to achieve my dreams.  And yet somewhere in my programming is a loud voice that gets in my way. A voice that tells me that I can't do it. A voice that tells me I'm not "whatever" enough to pull it off. A voice that tells me I don't have enough  x, y, or z.  A voice that tells me that I won't get the help I need to do it, because I can't rely on other people. I can't rely on other people because I can't trust other people. I can't trust other people because other people have betrayed and disappointed me.  I have been betrayed and disappointed because I allowed myself to be...  The voice tells me that I'm not "that" person...that successful, wealthy person who makes a difference in others' life. The voice says I'm small and ordinary.

I have always said, in this blog and in other circumstances, that I know when I have hit on a truth because my immediate reaction is tears.

As I typed the sentence above "I am small and ordinary" I instantly started crying.

I fundamentally, at the core of myself, feel small and ordinary.

Ironic, from the Soapbox Diva, huh? I stand here and pound my chest about this and that, and yet inside, I am a mouse. and I allow people to treat me badly, to discard me, disregard me, ignore me, upheave me, hurt me, lie to me, disappoint me, and harm me, because I am a mouse. A mouse is scared of everything. Have you ever watched one? When they exit their box or home or out from under your dishwasher, they stick their little whiskery noses out and twitchily smell around for threats. Then they gingerly put a tiny foot out and twitch some more. Then another tentative step and more twitching.  Then out of no where they break into a fast mouse run, across the room for the target  crumb.

CRUMB!!!  I have always accepted crumbs!!!

And I'm tired of that run for the crumb.  I want to exit my home, stand up, strut across my life and take the block of cheese, not race for the crumb!!

I have got to purge myself of this voice that tells me that I'm not important enough, special enough, strong enough, smart enough, resourced enough, talented enough, connected enough, loud enough, soft enough, popular enough, pretty enough, worth have what I dream of.

I have never questioned that God exists.  But I realized that I have NO faith in God's desire to give me abundance.  none.  I don't deserve abundance...of money, love, joy...whatever.


If you struggle with this, I would love and appreciate your comments.

I'm going to go have a good crying jag now. Hold my cape and my tiara....  I'll be back for them soon.

stand riiiiiiight there...

Two steps forward, one step back. and then another step. yep.perfect. say cheeeeeese!! 

I am SO sick of the scenery here. Seems no matter what I do or how good things seem, something has to always be in some state of fucked up ed ness.   I refuse to continue struggling.  I am determined to move out of this rut that sucks me under and move ON with my life.  DETERMINED. Do you hear me?? So get out of my way (said to myself) and let's get this fabulous show on the road.  I'm ready. And I'm kinda pissed, so pack some chocolate and some vodka. 

Friday, June 22, 2012

thank you to Steven Wilson of "Imagine That Graphix" in Bakersfield for my new fabulous amazing logo!! 

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Sprinkles on your vocab

One of my facebook friends was nodding with me about swearing the other day.  I started to respond to her, and realized that I have something to say on this here I am.

My mom gave up on my potty mouth in around 10th grade.  That is actually really generous. I'm sure my mom gave up on my mouth much sooner than that.  

I've never really understood the big deal about  swearing. I mean, sure...when I was in the 6th grade I probably threw out a "shit" because it was taboo.  But really once I hit Junior High, other than using them in self defense, I never really understood why they weren't allowed SOMETIMES.  To me, its just words. I rant and rave with them, but  if I'm going to hurt someone, it rarely requires cursing.  

As far as I'm concerned, curse words are are just glitter and sprinkles for my vocab.  

 :)  When I was in Jr. Hi and life was utterly  hell, my mom was really great about letting me just talk. She didn't care how I said it, so much as she wanted me to say something...anything, rather than NOT talk to her, ya know? so when "so and so was a mean bitch and this is all a bunch of fucking shit and I just want to die!!!" she listened and let me talk.    

Fuck just feels really gratifying to say, no way around it.  I truly always appreciated my mom's willingness to let me express myself. It was both with words and my appearance.  When I wore boxers sticking out of the top of my torn up jeans in 1987, and my dad's flannel shirt around my waist, she just let me.  When I needed to add some juice to my words to fully convey my angst, she let me.  

I do try to have some decorum about when I swear, or about what.  most of the time.  

But really, to me, dancing is to movement as swearing is to speaking...

Frankly, if I meet someone who absolutely does not swear, I don't really trust them.  Or people who don't like dogs. Don't trust them either really.  you fucking like dogs, we're good. 

And that, my friends, is why we fucking have this trucker mouth genius that you see here today.   Its my mom's fault. I can fucking thank my mom.  I do.  

Next, why it is my mom's fault that I am an utter slob about dishes and laundry :)