I feel a bit like the wheel on my MacBook, at the office we refer to it as the wheel of death, at home Finley squeals, “It’s workin’, it’s workin’.” I want to believe she’s right, that like that relentless little wheel, I am working. It would be so deeply reassuring to think that I am making forward progress, but I am admittedly getting caught up in some things that don’t seem to be doing anything in the way of moving me from the place that I am.
I apologize that I am going to have to dance around the subject, but it is what it is—the is ironically being so much of what I do. I live in a small town, I work in a business that can be high-profile and I have made myself all but entirely transparent online. I don’t regret these decisions, but I have painted myself into a corner of sorts.
This goes so far beyond having someone I no longer speak to troll the archives of this blog, this extends beyond taking what I do and claiming it for theirs, this is the murkier more prolonged, side-by-sideness that goes unacknowledged. The overlapping circles. I’ve certainly made mistakes in my time, but I haven’t lied. I have not sabotaged. Knowing that what I am dealing with now is a reality that involves people willing to do that…I am just at a loss.
Spinning. Turning. Stalling.
I want to celebrate what I have achieved and push myself to do more. I have the callouses and war wounds to prove that the road to today was not without effort. I am assiduously digging for some hidden cavity of fortitude to pass these tedious but pervasive berms. The extra weight of hurt, frustration and indignation are doing me no good.
It’s transparent.
“Mama, are you workin’?” She waits. I stew. She sidles closer and sneaks her face beneath mine. She holds my gaze until I let the anger go.
“We could do a puzzle together, would that be a great idea?”
I think it’s time to put one puzzle away for another.
Lukas and I play this game sometimes where we try to out “attack” each other. I’ll say “I am going to chase you down and tickle you.” To which he will respond (a little more aggressively) “No you won’t because I will scare you away with my fire hands!” Me: “Well, I will drop a big bucket of water on you and stick you in a bowl full of jello!” Him: “Well, I will get out through the secret jello door and get on a rocket ship and fly away!”
Hoping you find your secret jello door in all of this. It is there… waiting for those legs to walk up and open it!
totally the right choice.
Sounds like evil afoot to me. But taking joy in the little faces is good therapy.
There are always eveeeevil (pronounce like Mike Myers from “I Married An Axe Murderer”) trolls out there, and my father always says “Don’t let them flip your switch, because if you do, then they own that little piece of you”. Easier said than done, I know. Own your callouses and work your magic, mama. Ignore the assholes of the world, and god knows there are a lot of them. I promise not to steal your things, but I can’t wait to steal you for a bit soon. Very soon. xo
Kristy, we are going to be on the lookout for a jiggly, lime-flavored door.
Christine, you are so wise, but I also know that if we were face-to-face you’d sat something scathing and wicked, which totally makes me snicker.
BetteJo, you are correct on both counts.
Tet, I will not let them shade any more of who I am or what I do. Laughing with you and reveling in the love we have and the richness of our lives will be better than any revenge I could conceive.
This is a puzzle with no solution. Why? Because the other party will carry on changing the pieces as you go. Best just to move onto the newer truer game (which you did, with such grace, good on you!) I could only wish to be so wise myself…
Whoa. Stop living my life, lady, only one person should have to deal with this BS.
I feel this. Deeply.
Always workin’. This business of growing up is not for wimps. xoxo.
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