I’m in what one of my colleagues aptly referred to as a “reinvention period.” And he’s right. Every so often I completely turn myself into a vastly different version of myself. In the past this has been brought on by failed relationships, wanting to keep relationships from failing, or wanting to keep the next relationship from failing.
It’s a well documented fact that I’m not very good in relationships. I’ve been married and divorced three separate times and been in too many other relationships to remember. But they don’t last and I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. So here’s the list of reasons I’m not “that” droid.
- I’m too old
- I’m too young
- I’m too short
- I’m too fat
- I’m too smart
- I’m not smart enough
- I’m too passionate
- My taste in music is too weird
- I’m not a musician
- I work in education
- I can support myself
- I don’t make enough money
- I have tattoos
- I don’t have kids
- I do have cats
- I don’t like to drink wine
- I have weird hair
- I have short hair
- I have bipolar disorder
- I’m opinionated
- I will speak my mind
- I’m not great at singing
- I’m not politically active
- I don’t like Trump
Lastly, but I’m finding now is most important, I don’t give a good goddamn about any of those things and whether or not a man puts stock in them or not. This is me, this is the skin I wear, and if you don’t like it…
The door is over there. I’ll be busy enjoying my bellydancing class, grilling myself a steak, and rubbing my kitties’ tummies.
I’ve completely lost track of how many hours I’ve worked since returning from the conference. I’m at that place where numbers have ceased to have meaning. Nights, weekends, early mornings… It’s all blurring together. Today might be Friday, but then again it might be next Thursday. Who’s to say.
But truly, I thrive on this nonsense.
I loathe boredom and I really do prefer having a lot to do as opposed to very little. I do remarkably well when I have more things to do than I really should be able to get done. There’s almost something magical about the stress of needing to do my best when I’m sleep deprived.
I may have stumbled on the secret of how to cram 36 hours worth of crap into a 24 hour day. Maybe. Then again, I may also have developed a recipe for poo scented shoe inserts. Only time will tell.
What I know for sure is that people keep saying nice things, the kittens are adjusting to the move at home, and I actually did some knitting last night. Life is good enough right now.
My trip was good, all things considered. There were no real issues with the travel itself, we saw some beautiful scenery, learned some neat stuff, and had a good time. I actually laughed more than I have in a very long time. I needed the laughter, probably more than anything else.
It was an opportunity to recharge my muchly depleted batteries. I have a tendency to push myself far harder than anyone else ever would. That’s great, but only to a point. I had been working too many hours, going in on weekends, and not allowing myself breaks. Not good for anyone but seriously not good for someone with mental health issues.
And now the real fun starts. August on a university campus can, and often does, provide a close simulation to all of Dante’s levels of Hell. This is my 16th go at this. Bring it.
I enjoy the challenge. I enjoy helping people. I enjoy pushing myself to the absolute limit just to see if I can push a little further. One of my mantras, one that I think should probably turn into a tattoo soon, is “fall down seven times, get up eight.” I love it because, well, I just don’t know how to quit.