The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Chicken Licken'

I'm adrenalized, but not in a good way.

Could not sleep last night. Went to bed later than I should have, only to be roused by all kinds of foul weather in my intestines before four. I wondered if the chicken burgers I made last night upset my stomach in some way, but M. appeared to be sleeping soundly and the wee on hadn't made a sound. I decided a few bites in that I wasn't into ground chicken. I don't know why, only that it tasted 'weird' to me, mostly because I'm accustomed to ground beef and don't really enjoy meat in general these days. I put slices of avocado and tomato on it, and I felt really guilty about not liking it because M. was raving about how delicious they were. He thinks I'm fussy. I think I'm just over eating dead things.

Agonizing over my unemployment isn't helping, either. I've submitted my resume to a few places, but so far there hasn't been any interest, which I'm taking personally. I need something soon, and I'm feeling very stressed about it because I know M's waiting for me to get aggressive in my job search, but I'm not feeling it. I'm frightened by it all, honestly, and of course this keeps me imprisoned in my house, but even the notion that doing something will help me with my anxiety isn't really pushing me into action. I'm too keyed up to think straight even now. What I have done, though, is search the volunteer opportunities at one of the local hospitals. Apparently, this is a good way to get your foot in the door employment wise, so I am considering applying. I am doing my usual back and forth about it because I don't want to be too committed in case I do get a job, and frankly, I'm a job and home kind of girl. That said, there are some really interesting postings which might be beneficial in the long run.

And as I type, I am feeling horrible. Frankly, I'm annoyed by a lot of things, some of which don't even make sense. Mostly I'm angry at myself for seemingly giving in to my weaknesses, like they're family or something. I allow it, you see, and I know it's wrong but I allow it anyway. I envision myself from the outside, face crumpling in frustration, body assuming the fetal position and I feel powerless to it. This isn't good.

The horror of it makes me bitter, too. This is not the time to say something stupid to me because I tend to lash out, knowing that I am being unreasonable and small, but finding relief in feeling something other than nervousness. This morning, though I was mildly displeased that the wee one woke up a full hour before she was supposed to, I was grateful to have some time just to hold her and kiss her. It was a different kind of distraction, one which made me want to try harder on my myself. Then, she went off to school, and here I am, trying to plan a future I don't have the stomach for.

I hate being so negative. I used to think it was interesting, like some around here obviously still do, but when you grow up and start understanding that progress leaves the losers behind, you begin to crave a little progress of your own. Peace feels better, a hard lesson I've learned after years of doing battle with those closest to me. It feels better physically and spirituality, allowing the learning to come in. I don't think it's something you'll understand or appreciate until you grow into it. I hate how slow I'm moving toward it, though, like it's a door at the end of an endless hallway and I am starting to feel panicked that I'll never reach it. I still get lost in horrible thoughts, fruitless ones which only bring about a temporary sense of relief. I understand it, though.

Being a pain in the ass with too many opinions is an insecure person's way of being heard. It's a way of making certain you aren't forgotten when surrounded by people who are more capable than you are in every other conceivable respect. If you're mean, if you're loud and hypercritical, you get the attention you crave and for a short time, you coast on the high of being acknowledged. That is, until you realize that you're slowly alienating anyone who thought they cared about you, until you suddenly find yourself responding to your own, lonely echo. It's inevitable that you will end up alone if you don't change your ways, and you know it. You become afraid because your rage is all you begin to recognize in yourself, all that keeps you moving. What you do, then, is try to bait people with infantile remarks so that you can get the rush of your drug of choice, but then the reactions stop, and you're left hurting. Without them to listen, you're nothing. Nothing at all.

I don't think I'm above it, not really. I catch myself thinking all sorts of facetious things on a daily basis but it's becoming less and less engaging. I know it's immature. I know it's sad. Sometimes, I still want to give in to it. Oddly, people seem to like me best when I'm mean or evil, but I suppose that says an awful lot about them, right? All that means is that they want me to vocalize their thoughts so that they may be free from accountability. It takes a little less of the burden of being viewed as volatile and irrational off of them and onto me. Like weird, yellow-backed cheerleaders they taunt with a phony smile and clumsily choreographed routine (every fumble, every misstep is noted by the observers, but everyone pretends to clap along, anyway) thinking themselves clever. What I do is wait for them to hit the dirt. It pleases me, despite my quest for positivity. They always hit the dirt. Does this mean I think people should shut up and never say what they're thinking? I think people who are stupid should pretty much be quiet and leave the talking to those who have the sense to make a point that matters.

Do I feel better now after my rambling? Maybe a little, but my hands are cold and my stomach is really not feeling neutral.

I'm going to continue blaming it on the ground chicken, but it'll pass, eventually. It always passes.