Old Decathlon Olympics Journal

May 8ths entry entered May 9th- I hate weekends

May 8th, 2004

Entered on May 9th, 2004

Real life has again interfered with my hope to do the 500 words a day Writing Decathlon Challenge. I will not let that be the end to my efforts. The real problem is that weekends do not have as much of a routine as the rest of any given week. Monday through Friday everybody else in this household either goes to work or school. With everybody out of the house by 7:00 am every morning I usually spend all morning devoted to reading and writing. Weekends present a real challenge just to find any time to do the things that I want to do.

Today is Sunday, May 9th, 2004. It is also Mother’s Day. Big whoop-tee-do. Mother’s Day is just another one of those nationally celebrated holidays that only prove to me how much my life sucks compared to everybody else’s in my view. My personal life drama is easier to ignore on any other typical day of the year.

It is my sincere hope that everyone else has happy memories on National holidays. I don’t think that misery loves company. I know that I don’t wish for anyone to have to live through as much pain and grief as I do on any given day. Many people believe that depression can cause a person to feel as I do. Well, when an individual has real grief, there is no reason to celebrate, and chemical imbalance in a person’s brain is not the only cause for depression. Sometimes a person is depressed because there are real reasons to be depressed. Sometimes life just sucks, and that is a fact.

I am very good at taking very sad situations and turning them into little pots of gold. I enjoy making proverbial lemonade out of real life situations, especially when life only gives me lemons with which to make something. Yep, I am very good at making lemonade. I spent twelve years in therapy for doctors and counselors to tell me that I had a highly developed and evolved defense mechanism. Duh! All that time in therapy still provided no real solutions. All these smart, educated people saw their purpose in life was to make me feel better about mine. Damn the torpedoes – lets all make merry while the ship sinks into the dark, cold ocean depths and try to find a way to feel good about it.

I personally think that real life solutions are better than this touchy, feel good kind of psychological dribble.

I am sick to death of the inappropriate application of the theory that there is no personal blame or responsibility that an individual is now allowed to attach to a given event. I intentional, and with full culpability married a man that turned out to be less than marriage material. I proceeded to bear four children. I allowed myself to be his victim. I was there crying and sniffling as I watched him mold the children into his own image. Why should I now be shocked that the children do not treat me any better than they observed their own father treat me? I have proven to myself, beyond a shadow of a doubt that children learn what they live. How does that poem go—If a child lives with hate-- then a child learns to hate. If a child lives with a thief—then a child learns to steal. If a child lives with anger—then a child learns to be angry. Okay, so I have twisted some of the words of the poem, but certainly not the lessons that the poem intended to teach.

Either way my life sucks and it is my job to figure out how to straighten out the mess I have made of it.