Capacity?

You know what I'm sick of?  Pretty much fucking everything.  No.  I mean it.  Really.  EVERYTHING!  If there was a little "timer" that would/could pop out of the side of each and every one of us "humans" that indicated when we've just "had enough". . . mine would have popped about a year and half ago.  (And don't we all kinda wish that such a thing existed?  Imagine all the bull shit we could prevent from happening?  No more crazed folks running around shooting innocent people.  No way!  We'd be able to "lock people away" until their little "I'VE HAD ENOUGH SHIT" meter returns to "normal"!)

I digress. . . .I mean aren't YOU sick of everything, too?  Such as. . .why on Earth do I need Christmas decorations out for sale in the middle of July?  Really?  Because, of course, there isn't ENOUGH stress put on us moms to make that "blessed holiday" (yeah, right. . .more like COMMERCIALISM AT IT'S FINEST!) bloody perfect every year?  Let's make me start panicking about my inadequacy in the middle of summer?!?  No thanks.

I'm also super tired of politicians.  I hate them all.   I'm tired of being told that I'm an "idiot" and "un-American" for thinking that there's really just no good damn reason for you and I to be able to go out and get a "clip" that holds ONE HUNDRED ROUNDS OF AMMUNITION!  Really?  I'm stupid?  There's something wrong with ME?  I've never heard of a "hunter" needing to shoot a deer a hundred times to kill it.  (Since all I "EVER" seem to hear about is "hunters need their guns for this and hunters need their guns for that. . .)  Not to mention, if I'm using "my gun" to PROTECT myself, again, why do I need 100 bullets to shoot a bad guy?  Are we really THAT worried about the zombie apocalypse?   I'm also tired of them throwing FITS when they "don't get their way" and keep on threatening to "shut the government down".  I find this hilarious because you can bet your sweet ass that they'd keep on getting paid.  Not really "shutting the doors", are ya?  Fuckers.  I hate liars.  I hate fakers.  I hate whiners.  Suck it up and do your damn job for once!

If I see one more Dunkin' Donuts next to a Curves or 24 Hour Fitness I'm going to explode.  What the hell is wrong with us here in America?  People aren't struggling enough with their health and weight, we need to give them some EXTRA temptation?  Come on.  I hate cruelty, too.  And to me. . .this just seems cruel.

Then there are all these damn 'studies' that make each and every one of us either feel stupid and inferior or superior and brilliant.  Again, really?  How much damn money do we spend on 'studies' of NOTHING IMPORTANT?

Speaking of feeling inferior and stupid. . . . why can't women be nice to each other?  I'm tired of being used and abused by people who claim to be my friends.  No good deed goes unpunished there.  Evil knows no bounds in this arena.  Someone knows your inner most secrets?  You can bet she's going to use that to, not only, stab you in the back but also in the front.  The side.  The head.  The shoulder.  The eye.  You name it.  It's apparently not "off limits".  And I love how then they turn around and blame YOU for the "drama" in their lives.  Ummm. . .???  WHAT?

I could go on and on, but really. . .the point is this. . .  .do we each have a set "limit" for what we can take?  How does one go about "resetting" their "capacity timer" once it's gone off?  I'm really struggling with trying to figure this one out.  How do I put the cork BACK IN THE BOTTLE?  How do I STOP feeling overwhelmed with my life and the lives of all of those that intersect mine?  Why do some folks seem to have a much larger capacity for bullshit?  Why am I one of them?  (Or at least USED to be . .)  Why was I able to, quite easily, just sit back and swallow all of the crap that was handed down to me; given to me through little or no choice of my own?  Why now. . .all of the sudden. . .am I UNABLE, perhaps, unwilling, to accept what, once was, not only okay but expected?  Is my current "lack of capacity" a sign of growth or weakness?  Does your level of "capacity" change over time?  Should it?  Can you consciously "adjust" your level?  How can we recognize the "warning signs" in ourselves and those around us that, maybe, just maybe, they've been pushed too far?  Why can't anyone seem to hear me; when I'm so clearly standing in the middle of this room SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS???  (Oh sorry. . . . .my 'turkey timer" popped right out there. . .)  

I just don't know.  I don't know why, or how, or when, or where any of this went off of the rails.  I don't know who am I some days.  When I became this person who I see in the mirror every day.  I don't know how I got here and I certainly don't seem to know where I'm going.  I've lived a lifetime "under my capacity" and now. . . .now that I'm "over it", I'm not sure that I can put the genie back into the bottle.  I'm not sure what it would look like if I allowed myself to be raw. . .edgy. . . hard. . . .bitter. . . .selfish. . . . out of control. . .  ."over capacity".   What would happen if I just SAID what I really thought?  

 

Take a deep breath, it's just another day in Perfect!

What My Divorce Has Taught Me. . . . .

So, it's done.  Finished.  Over with.  My marriage that is. . . .and the divorce.  It's done.  It's . . .all. . . just. . . DONE!  It's strange really.  The divorce took eight minutes.  Yes, you read that correctly.  EIGHT. MINUTES.  That was all the time it took to murder a family.  Eight FUCKING minutes!  They have this shit down, I tell ya. . . .to a science, for sure.  It's very clinical.  They're very clinical.  The magistrate and the recorder.  They sat patiently waiting for my answers to questions that stuck in my throat, through my tears.  But, here's what this has all taught me:

Nothing matters.  No, I don't mean that to sound all cynical and negative.  If anything it's the opposite.  It's the fact that those eight minutes don't really MEAN anything.  I was still the same person I was when I got there, when I left.  I didn't crumble or crack or fall over or. . .DIE, like I thought I was going to.  Did I cry?  Yes!!  Like a fucking BABY!!!!!  I cried on my ex-husband's shoulder.  Yes, you read THAT right, too, I cried on. his. shoulder.  He let me get snot and tears all over his nice shirt.  And you know what?  It didn't matter.  He wasn't pissed about it.  He wasn't "put out".  He can always wash his shirt. It didn't matter that, as of 10 seconds prior to the bawling fit, we were no longer married.  It just, simply, didn't matter.  I was hurting and he held me.  Period. 

It doesn't matter that, as far as the state is concerned, I'm single.  Single, people.  Single.  I haven't been "single" since I was 14 years old back at good old "Smoky Hill High School", just prior to dating Keith!  What does one do some 32 years later?  How does one "date" again?  I have no idea and it doesn't matter anyway.  I'll figure it out.  Or I won't.  Either way, it doesn't really matter.  Life will go on. 

It doesn't matter that I loved my ex-husband in a way that, probably, wasn't healthy.  It doesn't matter that I wish I would have showed him how much I loved him better.  In a way that would have made him KNOW it, every single day.  It doesn't matter that I now know how lucky I was to be allowed to stay at home with our daughters and raise them, the right way, in our eyes.  It doesn't matter that I now realize I should have had more fun when I was there.  I should have allowed myself to go to lunch more often.  I should have stopped cleaning so much and allowed myself to relax.  It doesn't matter that I know for a fact that I tried EVERYTHING I knew how to do to save my marriage.  It doesn't matter that it didn't work.  It just doesn't. . . . . .

If I could give anyone a piece of my heart and some sound advice whilst going through the divorce process it's this. . . .it. doesn't. matter.  That piano doesn't matter.  The house doesn't matter.  Who's right and who's wrong, doesn't matter.  Even when it's GLARINGLY apparent!  None of it matters.  The day that you get a divorce is just like the day before it and the day after it.  There's nothing special about it.  Truly.  There's not!  You'll survive.  It'll be different and painful and difficult and nearly impossible some days, but it, in the end, still doesn't even matter.  You'll wake up tomorrow and put one foot in front of the other.  Then, you'll wake up the next day and do the same.  And the next day and so on, until you forget what even broke you up in the first place.  You'll settle into a routine.  You'll find your path.  There will only be the one set of footprints now, instead of two, but that doesn't matter either.  Eventually, you'll walk so far away that you can't even see the path that you both were walking down, once upon a time. 

Just know that none of this shit, that you're going through right now, matters.  You matter.  Your children (if you have them) matter.  That's really it.  That's all.  Don't make it more than it is.  Don't make it less than it is.  It's a divorce.  That's it.  And really. . . . .it just doesn't even matter! 

Take a deep breath. . . . it's just another day in Perfect!