Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Judgey Wudgey was a Bear

Wait. That's not how that nursery rhyme goes, is it?

Fuzzy wuzzy was a bitch ... 

Shit, that ain't right either!  Maybe my head is what is truly fuzzy from lack of adequate sleep?

Photo Credit: firstwivesworld.com
Last night I stayed up finishing, or rather doing, since it never really is ever finished, huge heaps of laundry while also paying bills, organizing my office and working on a case for my real job.  I also couldn't sleep because I'm a tad broke at the moment and balancing a single, divorcing mother's budget before bed is equivalent to taking an insomnia-pill in place of a sleeping-pill. I'm in pretty desperate need of that highly-coveted green paper with the dead presidents printed on it.

Attorney fees thus far now hover around $6,000, before either of us even files for divorce, and while our house teeters precariously between hopeful short-sale and foreclosure no-man's land. I could have a coronary from the stress any day now, I swear ...

In case I needed a reminder that my number one priority is to care and provide for my son as a single, divorcing mother (um, I didn't), my first blogsphere-hater has stepped-up, rather uninvited. Thank GAWED, she said something! I'm such a "bad mother", I might have spent all my time blogging and completely forgot about all of my priorities and responsibilities.

*smirk*

In all honesty, I'm actually thankful for the hater cowardly "sharing".  I mean, okay okay ... her name is "Jess" something; the tiny avatar fronting the private/hidden blogger profile is a tad less pitiful than taking a dump on someone's blog while hiding behind the pseudonym of "anonymous". But only by a cunt-hair, which I'm sure she has plenty of. She probably spends so much time being such an awesome mother compared to me, she hasn't shaved her bikini-line since before her first kid was conceived. Good mother's don't have time for that.

*smirk*, again.

Anyway, why am I thankful for the hater? Well, she inspired quite a few readers to throw me some virtual ass-slaps, words of encouragement and all around positive support (awe, super warm fuzzies, for real) and she brought a fairly large amount of traffic here that's quite unusual for me so many days out from the most recent post going up. Most importantly, the hater's lame tirade reminded me how little I care about the negative opinions of others when those opinions are nothing but hateful spite void of even the tiniest crumb of constructive criticism.

And that's the key, I think. My head is clearing now as I write this ...

The judgement and criticism of others isn't worth anything if its constructive merit doesn't stack up against the constructive merit of your own personal judgement and criticism.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

When merely working for a living is no longer your idea of living

A shot from my first gig shooting maternity
Photo credit: ME!
If I think about it, I’ve always had a creative side and the roots of my creativity run deep. My family tree is chock full of fairly successful artists, musicians, photographers; a multitude of ingenious talent.  So really, I guess I’m finding it a tad peculiar that it’s taken me almost 30 whole years to finally have the nerve to reach down into the very depths of me, pull that creativity out, blow the dust off and polish it up real nice for it to be put to good use.

It took a bad marriage to the wrong person and its fast and painful demise, becoming a single mother to the most precious gift there can ever be and being stuck in a stagnant career of almost seven years for me to get to this place. This place of overwhelming desire to start over and to do so in a way that is nothing but wonderful.

I've realized that I don’t want to just work for a living. Instead, I want to live while I work. And I want to enjoy living.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Learning My Truths, Episode 2

Learned truth: I'll never have a poker face, never mind master one. But I'm sure going to try!

I'll never learn how to relax my face into that blank expression one needs to form, as if its second nature no less, to win big at Texas hold'em. Or to win any other gamble in life for that matter. If I'm holding a full house, the induced glee felt in anticipating winning the pot is not only written all over my face, but rather stamped, sealed and hand-delivered to my opponent. That knowing twinkle in my eye I can't figure out how to dim gives it away every single time. So, I lose. That hand, and then the next five.

I have no poker face. (Lady Gaga would be thoroughly disappointed, I'm sure.)

The woman with a thousand different faces.
Photo credit: mtv.com
If I am bursting at the seems with happiness, it shows. Likewise, if I am feeling miserable I tend to look the same outright. How I really feel at any particular moment in life is usually not all that difficult to discern, even for the most undiscerning of people. An observer need not even know me all that well to figure me out.

Sometimes, wearing my feelings as if they're nothing more than a catchy accessory to an already well-put-together outfit bodes well for me. Other times, its more like being worthy of being in one of those fashion disaster spreads all the gossip mags print after major red carpet events. Except this is my life, for real, and this isn't Hollywood. There is no red carpet. Ever. Just a stained, faded, dog-hair-covered drabish green one that would be the first thing I would rip out of the house I am renting if I were able to buy it.

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