My whole house of cards came tumbling down today.
I got the new computer and printer, and they look very wonderful, they’re the first new quality things I’ve had for over ten years. TEN YEARS, folks. Imagine my excitement.
And I can’t use them. Because the printer needs a new cartridge and the pc doesn’t have Microsoft Office. The cartridge costs anything from R200-500 and the software costs R1500. Money I don’t have. The frustration of no resources blew out my lights.
What the hell is the point of being alive and being so positive and looking for solution and clutching onto my dreams when I just keep hitting this brick wall? It gives me a monumental fucking headache. Brain damage.
I know there must be a solution somewhere but it eludes me.
Somebody asked me to do some sewing for her, and offered me R50. I said I’d do it for R100. She didn’t want to pay that. I accepted her price, feeling like a poor white. She got this smug look on her face, aren’t I clever, I got you for cheap.
Yeah, you’re real clever. Congratulations.
What am I doing here? I’m so sick of the frustration of wanting to move with ideas and not being able to.
Who gives a rat’s ass whether there’s a solution out in the universe for me, and it’s just my own incomplete consciousness that stops me from finding it? How does knowing that, or suspecting it or fearing it get me closer to the solution?
I feel utterly worthless and stupid. Hundreds of thousands of people have overcome things that happened to them in their childhood and moved through challenges and made their way in the world.
What’s wrong with me.
I’ve been as angry as a snake for hours. I hurt like hell.
This is the first time I’ve written a blog and haven’t felt better by the end. And it’s my 101st blog. I should be celebrating. It’s an achievement, isn’t it. Well, I’m not celebrating. I want someone to reach out to me and say it’s okay, you don’t have to be strong all the time, it’s okay to be disheartened.
Well, whether it’s okay or not, it’s what I am.
My words are pale, they don’t deliver images which can come anywhere close to what I feel, how bleak my world looks from the inside.
This too will pass.
And it has. I still don’t know what the solution is to this ridiculous and appallingly frustrating situation that I’m in.
But I won’t let myself listen to the part of me which shouts that I’m a worthless failure. It’s bs. I’m not.
Facts: bankruptcy is hard to recover from. Having no material resources is a common human predicament.
Like I said, hundreds of thousands of people have managed to get out of this exact hole. I must be able to, also. I’m human, aren’t I?
I won’t let this take me down. Not for a minute longer.
I was happy yesterday, able to have faith in myself, believe my life is going forward. Happy to be part of the human race, not regretful of a second of my life so far. Sure of its meaning. Patient with myself, and clear about the bigger picture.
Today the storm clouds gathered. It was just emotion, that’s all. I got angry, frustrated, scared, sore. Did some tantrum, crying, expressing, got it out of my body. Sanity restored itself. It always does.
So I guess it’s back to choosing what to believe. When that’s what’s in front of you, when that’s the only thing you can control, you might as well choose the idea that holds prospect. Might as well.
Maybe all this choosing I’m doing is building momentum behind the scenes. Really looking forward to choosing other things, I’m dead sick of this one. It holds no entertainment value for me at all. I’d rather be choosing my next travel destination, or my plastic surgeon, or which actresses and actors and director etc. I want for my completed script. Now which grand piano should I buy?
Some kind of sick humour rises to the surface; at the age of 55 I’m dependent on my unwilling mother and taking in sewing work for R50 – I’m like a character out of the Jane Austen era. In straightened circumstances. Well I did the damn work and it took me an hour and a half. That is the sum of my valiant financial achievements at present.
Break open the champagne.
It is quite funny, in a satirical, Bridget Jones kind of way. I suppose.