Spinning wildly out of control…

Yup, that’s me. And I’d like to attribute the sprained back muscle to the wild spinning, but the truth of the matter is that I did it in a most undignified manner… bending over in the john to pick up one of those cowboy hats (otherwise known as toilet seat covers) that had fallen onto the floor, with my knickers pooled around my ankles. Yeah, too much information, I know.

So… back to the wild spinning. Although I overheard a suggestion for a trip to Magic Mountain this weekend, this has nothing to do with an amusement park ride. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I get so frustrated with myself sometimes… The Critic shows up (uninvited) and proceeds to wreak havoc to what little confidence I’ve managed to muster up with regard to my skill as an artist (or writer). I sit before the blank sheets of paper and balk. My stomach churns. I break out in a sweat. I think of the myriad other things I need to take care of instead of focusing on the task at hand. My mind wanders. I fantasize about Keanu Reeeves (did I just say that? I was kidding…). I think of the laundry that needs to be sorted by color and weight, schlepped out onto the balcony and loaded into the washer, then the dryer… then schlepped back inside and folded and put away. I think about the laps on the treadmill I ought to be doing (not to mention the crunches).

I decide that watching the Matrix movie with my kid is much more appealing than to sit down and draw something, particularly when it’s due to someone in a few days. Researching the mythology embedded into the movie seems to make far better use of my time than to work on anything substantive (like the story I was going to write and stopped writing half a year or so ago)… particularly when I discover that The Merovingian links that I unearth scream “conspiracy” and this sucks me in like a vacuum, as I trail from one weblink to the next, and finally go to bed with my head feeling like a bowl stuffed full of wet cottonballs. I lay down alone, as I’ve been doing for the better part of twelve of my thirteen years of marriage (unless of course it’s one of “those” nights [wink, wink] which for the most part is a less desirable option at times than the half empty bed part, because even on those nights I end up drifting off to sleep by myself once the deed is done. It’s a cruel form of pay-back for every one night stand that I initiated which resulted in my partners feeling cheap and used.

And then I wake before the crack of dawn, after hitting the snooze button more times than I ought to, which renders me late to work, and hence leaving the office later at the tail end of my work day, and starts the whole maniacal cycle over again.

Truth of the matter is (I say that often, don’t I?) I’m not feeling particularly inspired these days. I haven’t been for a while, and I feel so full of shit when I try to drum something up that really isn’t authentic, if you know what I mean? Truth of the matter is… I am bored. My life is like a scene out of Groundhog Day (only different)… same shit, different day… and I just can’t seem to shake that gad-awful feeling and get worked up about something enough to overcome that dreadful sinking feeling.

I’m stuck in the black hole of The Corporate World, at the lowliest end of it, right along with the bottom feeders of the deep. We’re a necessary and useful group, to be sure, but don’t make much of an impression, and the grand entrances are carried out by the bigger fish. Nobody really gives a shit about you, except when you don’t follow the rules. And lordy, there certainly are a litany of rules… a whole “employee’s manual”-worth, biblical in breadth (yeah, so what if I’m exaggerating a wee bit).

There are days I just feel like running away… far, far, away. I remember reading about a fugue state in one of Dean Koontz’ books, where folks run, saliva foaming at the mouth and everything, until they finally collapse. I imagine, at times, that that would be a preferable state. And then feel horribly guilty about even thinking about running away, because I do, after all, have a smallish child (though I can attest that he has a disproportionally BIG mouth at times). The phrase “freedom of choice” smacks of oxymoron to me. Do I have a choice? Well… yeah… between a rock and a hard place, and in my most humble opinion, that isn’t much of a choice at all.

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2 thoughts on “Spinning wildly out of control…

  1. T2

    Stick a knife in the belly of The Critic, he’s a mean, nasty bastard and needed killin’. F**K HIM! You’re welcome.

    The Muse can seem quiet and distant sometimes, probably because she’s too busy whoring around with musicians or someone else than to give you the time of day, let alone a little inspiration. The bitch.

    Leaving partners feeling cheap and used is their problem. If all parties had a good time, then what’s the problem? You didn’t hear any complaints when the grunting was going on.

    Kids can be a total pain in the butt. Yeah, we love ’em to death but that doesn’t mean they can’t be Satan Spawn to be shunned or banished, sprayed with holy water or otherwise ignored for periods of time. Locking in closets and feeding through a slot in the door might be a viable option, too.

    And the job??? Well, no matter what you do, who you work with or what your position is, they will NOT miss you 3 weeks after you’re gone unless it’s to find something they thought you had access to like the keys to the main file room or knew where to buy those killer bagles everyone seemed to love during the last meeting.

    Sometimes you just gotta give the world the middle finger and tell ’em to pound sand and tell ’em exactly where to pound it.

    You CAN get away, escape for short periods. Try this: tell ’em you’re heading out, not sure how long that will be. Dinner? Not sure what THEY’RE gonna have but YOU’RE getting something out. They will not starve and may even prefer it now and again. Damn ingrates.

    It is perfectly acceptable to rant and piss and moan now and again. Those folks will just have to deal with it. Sometimes just doing one thing for yourself or telling one person off or one night with Keanu will get you through the rest of the year.

    Whatever you do, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT feel guilty about whatever or whomever you decide is worth deligating to the back seat of your day. Or life.

    Employee manuals make servicable toilet paper or easy ways to start a bar-b-que.

    Small victories make all the difference sometimes.

    Hang in there, lady.

  2. Adriane

    Terry, you crack me up… thanks, though, for the words of encouragement… sure need ’em sometimes… but the part about Keanu had me rolling… as if that’d EVER happen in my lifetime… ROFLMAO Besides… sometimes fantasies are best left to their own devices, because reality normally usually sucks in comparison. Except in your case… your wife is one lucky lady; you ought to be cloned. 🙂

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