Day 12: A few weeks of fail

The runic symbol of thorn, on my left wrist, done by Gareth Hawkins at Wealthy Street Tattoo.
If plans had gone the way they were supposed to, I’d be writing a little snarky aside right now on Day 12 in the UFYH movement and how my life was coming together nicely. The previous 11 days would have been already posted on the Internet, keeping myself in check. I would be less stressed, more relaxed, and better organized.

Instead, you get one giant post filled with snarls and teeth gnashing.

Day one was as it was to be: Clothes laid out the night before, coffee made for the morning, lunch/breakfasts made and packed. Most of everything laid out in this reminder post over at UFYH is what I do (more or less) on a regular basis prior to my discovering UFYH but this time I did ALL THE THINGS. The morning the first went without a hitch as I woke up on time, did my five minute yoga and seven minute writing bits and the rest of the day, since I was not stressed, flowed as smooth as a baby’s bottom. I even started laying out the post I was going to write for that day. But something – IT IS ALWAYS SOMETHING – ate in my world and well, the post was never written and the days that followed were a complete and utter fail because of a hiccup, I tore the entire project down in my head.

After day the first of UFYH, I crumpled under the imaginary failure of my own making and spent the rest of the week not stress-less and productive, but stressful and manic. As it was, it was the same week as the week before MPOW Spring Break. Typically, time leading up to any kind of time when I will be gone for long periods (conferences, vacation, whatever) from library always has me running around work like a mad woman prior to the leaving because everything needs attention NOW NOW NOW. By the time I lock my office down, turn on DND and the auto voicemail on my work phone, and pack up everything I “need” for said break, I’m an anxiety filled stress ball. The self-added stress at my own failure of UFYH just magnified everything ten fold.

For the break, TheHusband and I had plans of a staycation in which we would explore the local area, learn new things and also relax. The first weekend of said break, the following occurred within 48 hours:

  • Clothes washer blew up
  • Someone frauded one of my credit cards
  • Jeeves (the MINI) was keyed on two separate occasions. While getting him fixed, the body shop found that someone had ran into him and dented the passenger rear panel

Then other things started happening our week off: A friend of nearly a decade dumped me after I gave her TOUGH LOVE, the adventure to get a new washer was epic, and the damage to Jeeves turned out to be more extensive then thought from the keying (six of his eight panels were repainted as an example).

While it felt like it was all doom and gloom, there were some bright spots. We got our house refinanced at a lower rate and signed the paperwork on Monday. I tracked down my favoritest tattoo artist, saw that he is still in Grand Rapids and scheduled appointments to get DEATH updated and new ink, which is tattoo #13. In addition, Gareth and I started planning on finishing my back piece, which is scheduled for April 1, and my half-sleeve is to follow sometime later in the year. But none of the things we were planning to do this week for FUN came to fruition and if the weather holds for tomorrow, we may squeeze in a journey to a few museums that are open on Sunday. Our “restful” break is now over.

I’m sitting in my dining room writing this right now, the pug is sunning herself on the rug. TheHusband and I have been absolute slobs these last few weeks, dirty dishes in the sink, take out boxes in the fridge, recyclables all over the place are only a few of our sins. Piles of newspapers, magazines, and other things clamoring for my attention a few weeks ago have grown and are still clamoring for my attention. My fist shaking of a few weeks ago has quieted down to a murmur. I feel so disappointed with myself.

This is how it always ends, where we feel helpless and under siege in devices of our own making. I felt so disappointed with myself after Day 1 because I could NOT get the gumption to do more than make coffee for the following day or the days that followed. Fuck the laying out of the clothes, fuck making breakfast and packing my lunch, fuck getting ready for work. I just wanted to wallow in my own filth and not give a rats ass. But if some of my snarling is of my own making, can I not undo this pit we keep digging ourselves in?

Why do I always give up so easily on all the things that I want most of all?

So now, today, we pick ourselves up by our bootstraps and we begin again. And we keep beginning again until there is no more beginning to begin.