So.
It’s Labor Day weekend and everyone is moving! I feel like I should be moving, too. Instead I helped April move some of her stuff out, and organized all the boxes in the garage. Like moving prep, see? It’s something. I was out mowing the part of the lawn that’s not dead from the heat, when I noticed something that instantly filled me with rage. I stopped and turned up the volume on the iPod to deafening, then stomped my way through a couple more rows. Then I stopped again and wondered what the hell had gotten me so riled up. I mean, I know what it was, I just had to reconsider my response. I do this a lot. I’ll have this rush of fear or anger or guilt, and have to dissect its source and implications. Fear is an easy one for me to conquer: either it’s a fear for my safety, or it’s that other fear of the unknown, the one that’s a secret message to go for it, because therein lie the rewards. Anger is harder for me. I am known to be a very happy and generally pleasant person, unaccustomed to the urge to punch holes in the wall. A friend suggested it might be weightlifting. I disagree, because I know exactly what it is. Right now, I feel trapped and unable to move on, but I know this state is temporary. The guilt is by far the most immobilizing, due to being irrational. I have guilt over things like missing a day at the gym, or eating a potato chip, or only finishing 499 instead of 500 projects. And while I’m very aware I’m too hard on myself, I’m going to go ahead and blame my parents. See, my mother is immensely disappointed in me for not having married a very wealthy man and been elected president. First of all, as I tell her perhaps once a week, I don’t need anyone to support me. I do very well on my own. Not only that, I won’t allow it. It’s essential to maintaining my self-respect. And speaking of self-respect, I will do my absolute best to not be elected president, since I have an immense distaste for cheating, warfare, and sucking corporate dick. Also, I’m not old enough. I’m sorry, mom. Guess you’ll have to chalk this one up to failure. Ha. Anyway! I have a point, and it is this: self-awareness is one of your most important possessions. Learn to love your issues. Know that you’re damaged in the exact same way everyone else is damaged, just in different combination. Because this is how you know you’re not alone. You are a beautiful(ly fucked-up) snowflake, my friend.Jenni P.S. I buried Jesus’ dad in the backyard today. No joke. Since I’m not religious or superstitious, I call this ‘hedging my bets’.