Pecked to Death By Chickens

A good friend of mine has a plaque on one of the walls of her house that says "Having children is like being pecked to death by chickens." (The sign hasn't seemed to have done any lasting harm to her children.) They all understood the concept: they had chickens.

Readers of this blog have some idea of how my life has gone in the past year and some. I haven't blogged much in the last couple of months, what with dealing with the estate, having surgery, finding work that is low-paying but gratifying (and anxiety-producing), and now getting a fairly solid respiratory infection that may have also endangered or even ended another work situation before it started. In fact, it feels a lot like being pecked to death by chickens, Universe-style.

I'm just trying to make progress. All I want is a life of health, financial stability, and the chance to pursue my happiness and my dreams. Given all my fortunate advantages — white, from a middle-class family, well-educated, and highly experienced in my field of endeavor — getting the life I want shouldn't be so hard. But every time I think I have my feet under me, things beyond my control knock them out from under me again: Mom, overwhelming grief and depression, unemployment, emergency surgery for god's sake!, illness, and timing.

Good things have happened: friends have helped and supported me in some places, I found a great therapist (and a mediocre psychiatric nurse), I got the one project. I know that life is hard. I also know that life was simpler and easier for my parents; it wasn't a painful struggle. We were all very happy and content (until my dad died and our lives completely fell apart, but that's a separate story). I just think that continually having to try and shovel myself out of a hole full of mud is harder than it needs to be. Add to that the continuous and uneven peck-peck-peck of my life's disasters — small and large — prevents me from making progress. And it wears me out completely.

You'll notice I haven't given up. I keep trying through some, potentially foolish, belief that I can grasp that life I want, one where I can withstand the difficulties because I have enough of the good to cushion my falls. Or maybe I keep on because, really, what else is there to do?

Only keep trying to dig myself out of the mud and avoid the damned chickens at the same time.

I'm not that fond of chicken.

Random Day

It just occurred to me that I don't always have to write on a specific topic (which has caused me to not write on occasion). Other bloggers have random thoughts posts, so what the hell, so can I!

I didn't do my homework, yet again. My therapist will wonder about my level of commitment, as do I. I desperately want to get better, but I wonder if the level of pain I have felt on a few of these homework days has put me off.  So the week passes and I keep thinking later, if I think at all. I have enlisted one friend to pester me to death if necessary. Other readers who know me, feel free to pester.

I've become very good at not thinking. This is why it's July and I haven't done the stuff I should have done in January and why I'm still jobless. Well, I think that the level of my messed-up-ness and sheer pain, anxiety, and depression are what really are to blame for my joblessness. I must change that now that I'm feeling better.

I'm still feeling guilt that I am here and my mother is not. I know that I took very good care of her, the best I could, but I still feel guilty. For example, I kept forgetting to visualize her cancer cells being killed off by the radiation, even though I told her I would and I taught her how (and she did). Rationally, I know it wouldn't have helped. Irrationally, I feel that I didn't do my part and maybe it would have helped. And that life must be wrong for me to be here and her to be gone.

Home is still a mess: I've made little progress. I did organize my socks and underwear, rather than just have them tossed around in the closet. If I could just handle the pile of clothing in between the socks and underwear, my closet will be almost perfect. Of course, I have something like two dozen socks. But they are all so pretty!

I didn't walk this weekend. I didn't clean. I didn't have salad tonight like I told a friend I would do, but I did cut up and eat some yellow and orange bell peppers. Plus I had blueberries in my cereal and yogurt for breakfast, and a couple of strawberries for a snack. Go me!

My therapist and I talked about my feeling that I am a tiny sports car facing humongous speed bumps. She suggested I consider myself a big SUV looking down on speed bumps that, from here, are pretty small. I need to remember that. I'm a big SUV and the speed bumps are actually quite small. I wonder what kind of SUV? And what color should I be? These are very important details in a good visualization.

My computer needs an overhaul, but there are things I'm not sure are possible. So I have to do some research before I can simply reformat. Computer problems are almost as bad as car problems.

I got a great haircut. Now I need to find the right hair dye. I think I need a bigger pharmacy that what I usually go to. I want really saturated color.

Okay, this isn't that interesting, so I'll stop here. I wish I were as funny as my favorite writer; her random days are hilarious. But then, her blog isn't a therapy, open a vein kind of blog. Maybe I should try this on my regular blog. It might be easier.

Hope you aren't bothered by incessant fireworks tonight!