One of the things that irritates me most about my mother, and lately my youngest brother, is the constant reminder from them that I need to be more 'positive'. Their 'kumbaya-hippie-The-Secret' ramblings sometimes make me go into a coma. 'Be more positive!'...'You need to think more positive'...'You're unhappy'...'You're an alcoholic'...blah, blah,blah. Excuse me one micro millisecond there woman who birthed me and youngest sibling who I used to dress up like a girl. I love you, but you don't know very much about me. In fact, I would hazard a guess that you only know the basic facts about me. I am neither a negative nor an unhappy person. No, I'm a rather bruised idealist. That's an idealist who has seen and been through enough to make them construct a rather formidable wall around themselves in an attempt to preserve the last vestiges of themselves...and keep the dumb motherfuckers out.
What does that mean in terms of who I am? Well, it's best to put it like this, at my very core I am a hopeless romantic, an idealistic dreamer with her head constantly in the clouds, someone deeply pained by the misery and sadness in the world, who would desperately love to be able to soothe all that misery and sadness, who has a very tender and caring heart, who would love to fall asleep in someone's arms every night and wake up next to them for the next 40 or so years. However, I hide all of that behind an immense amount of sarcasm, snark, my wonderfully dirty mind, and foul mouth. Why? Because every time I let someone see the other side...they mock, devalue, criticize, and take advantage of those things. They often say that I live in a dream world, as if that's a bad thing. I'm a proud feminist, so therefore I must hate men (anyone who really knows me knows how much I adore the male of the species...I especially adore the one they call Benedict Cumberbatch). Injustice makes me livid, so I'm told what an angry person I am. I believe that a woman should be allowed to embrace and enjoy her sexuality, so I'm called a 'slut'. I let people think what they want...but I never let anyone else define who I am.
Back to my mother and her obsession with The Secret. She thinks that all of my thoughts, my inner dialogue, everything essential to my thought process is soaked in a big, grey vat of negativity. Nope. Wrong answer, but thanks for playing. My thoughts are usually quite hopeful and occasionally witty...but when I voice them to my family they are usually ridiculed and mocked. So, I keep quiet unless something is really bothering me...something that I'm having troubles with...like being bullied or having to deal with people triggering me (former domestic abuse related trauma)...and I just can't keep it in anymore. Though, I should know by now that they are not the people I should unburden myself to, as they do not listen or they tell me to 'get over it' or to not be so negative. It's an inescapable cycle.
Lately, I'm exhausted from work. The mental weight of trying to learn the mass amount of tiny details and exceptions I need to know in order do and keep my job. The emotional strain of having to deal with the bad apples whose bad attitudes soak the atmosphere and saturate it heavily with their poison. The physical exhaustion of getting up at 5am, leaving the house by 6:30am, working all day with the mental and emotional and eye strain, and then not getting home until after 6:00pm...and having to get everything I need to get done at home completed before 9pm. It's all taking it's toil on me. I try to stay positive about it. I really do. Some days I just want to say, 'Fuck this' and storm out...but I can't afford to do that. To come home and be teased or mocked...no matter how it's intended...does absolutely nothing to put me in a positive frame of mind. I'm so stressed that I have developed a spasm in my left eye.
I knew that I had to do something to keep me from going insane. There had to be a way for me to get through my never ending work day...to get me through the times when I just couldn't take one more thing from one more person. My writing is suffering thanks to spending 2 1/2 hours commuting to and from work, and 8 1/2 hours at work, so I can't really rely completely on that to get me through. There had to be something, some little thing that I could use to get me through...to cheer me up...to keep me from flinging myself into 280 traffic. But what??
Then Monday it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was having a particularly difficult, and soul crushing day. Sitting in my little, grey cubicle I found myself wishing my favorite wish. That I was in England. London to be more specific. A huge, radiant hope blossomed in my chest. I could go to London. I have a job, by this time next year I'll have 2 whole weeks of vacations time, what's stopping me? Normally, that's when my practical side starts going, "Uh, money, and the fact that absolutely no one is going to go with you!". Not this time though. No, this time little Miss. Practical said, "Why the fuck not? Let's go".
So, I made a decision. I'm going to London for a week in 2013. I know there are many obstacles in my way..I have to buy a new car right now...and well, I've never flown anywhere before and it scares me...and I'll be going solo...I don't care. I'm doing it. Honestly, the going by myself thing doesn't bother me. I'll be able to do what I want to do...which does not include any touristy type things. I want to go and just blend in and experience the city and her lovely people. Yes, I'm planning on going in early 2013, and no I will not comment on whether or not the fact that Sherlock will resume filming in early 2013 has any bearing on that decision. The money thing is my main obstacle...especially since I have to get a new car ASAP. I'm hoping to have a tiny car payment and to delay my Student Loans a bit longer. Starting later this month and lasting until Christmas I'll be working a hellish amount of overtime (including weekends), so while it may take a toll on this blog...it will help me a bit in getting to London.
Since making this decision, I've been much happier and positive. In fact, whenever anything irritates or makes me sad, I just think of walking the streets of London. I read my books about the city and everything feels better. There's also my new 'go to' phrase when things go wrong or people piss me off, "Fuck you/it, I'm going to London."
If given half the opportunity, I will not come home. I know I can stay for up to 6 months without a Visa...but I'd love to find a job that sponsors me and allows me to move. No one believes me...but given half the chance...I will stay forever.
...and no, I'm not going just to watch BBC one...okay, not entirely.
I am, however, going to need someone to get me out of jail if I see Benedict Cumberbatch, and decide to attach myself to him like some kind of clingy, grabby, horny thing with sucker thingys that makes it impossible to dislodge from it's prey. LET ME LOVE YOU!
|Marry me and I'll sex you up and have your babies forever.|