I needed someone to tell me this evening to stop feeling sorry for myself, and point out that this is the same thing I always do, and that things are the same now (for me) as they were 36 hours ago. Well, first I needed someone to distract me and dish some trashy gossip. (Man, was it trashy. Always remember to text your lover and not your ex-wife, people!) Then I needed someone to comfort me. Then I needed someone to listen to me. Then I needed someone to gently prod me and suggest some strategies for getting out of my funk. Then, and only then, was I ready for someone to tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. “Yes, everything is shit, you’re using the shit seeking missile, this is the same old story,” Skelly told me, not unkindly.
What is the shit-seeking missile? It’s the tool that helps me find the worst parts of every situation and blow them completely out of proportion. I am an expert at it. I hone in on the news, and boom! Everything is shit. It doesn’t matter if twenty-nine people like me, that one bitch doesn’t. The raise isn’t big enough. My piece of pie is smaller than his. I’m a pro at making myself unhappy.
I need to change my perspective. I’m still healthy. Yes, I can have compassion for people, and I’m sensitive, and that’s good. But I can’t let my world be sucked up by other people’s problems. That’s not healthy. That’s Crazytown. When it’s people I don’t really know, yeah, that’s really not good for me. I have problems of my own to deal with right now, and I can’t afford to pay other people’s psychic and emotional debts. I can feel for them, but there needs to be some fucking balance. I’m not good at moderation, but I can at least make a feeble attempt. I can at least try, instead of hurtling myself headlong into woe. That always fucks me up. I’m not even doing it all cool like an Italian widow in black weeds or anything either. Just two days of a “shower on a stick” and all dandruffy and greasy, eyes all bloodshot, crying on the phone in the back room at work.
I’m not going to do it tonight. I’m not smoking misery tonight. Things aren’t that fucking bad. I hate a lot of things, but they aren’t that bad for Chrissakes. I wasn’t promised shit. What am I expecting? Of course things are hard. I’m alive. Part of the trade-off of a world with mercy is that shit isn’t fair. I mean a world where it can exist. It can’t exist when fairness rules the roost. If I really got mine every time I deserved it, I’d be dead. But people were kind and merciful, and I got lucky, and it wasn’t fair. Part of the trade-off is that random ass, fucked up shit will just happen to me and everyone else. I don’t believe in a plan. I don’t believe in karma. I believe that sometimes, shit happens, and I didn’t deserve it (my diagnosis), and sometimes, I did (speeding ticket). That’s Seer’s worldview, anyhow. I disagree with Lama Marut: you can believe in a mixed worldview. You can because I do.