Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Monday, July 26, 2010
I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with myself, my life, and everything.
I need to re-evaluate and reorganize, rethink and retool.
So, I did a little life assessment.
What's working, what's not working, pull confidence from what's working and set new goals and form new plans for what's not.
Well, crap.
Nothing's working.
There is not one facet of my life that's how I want it to be.
And yes, yes, I cut myself slack for crap beyond my control.
But.
Still.
Crap beyond control is a fact of life; you have to roll with it, adapt, evolve.
For the past year my goals have been: Find a job; pay my mortgage.
Pretty much every second, waking and even sleeping, has been devoted to those two goals. They're omnipresent. Unemployment is all pervasive.
And here I am. Unemployed a year and on the verge of foreclosure. So. Obviously I didn't meet my goals. Obviously.
But I haven't taken the time to think about (or even care) about other facets of my life - at least not in the goal and plan setting realm. I mean, nothing matters except finding a job and keeping a roof over my head. Unemployment does simplify life, reduces it to the bare essentials and forces you to focus on the basics. Money, shelter, food. In that order.
Intrinsic things like fulfillment, creativity, fun, what I want from life...yeah, uh, those things are non-issues. So I don't really think about them. At first I just put those goals on hold. "Job. Find a job. Keep a roof over your head. Deal with the rest later. Focus, focus, focus on the situation at hand."
And here I am. Unemployed a year and on the verge of foreclosure.
Crap.
So, let's take a look. Where do I go from here? What do I want, where do I want it, how do I get there?
Oh crap again.
Unemployment has consumed every facet of my life. And when I say consumed I mean eaten, digested and flushed it down the toilet.
Because I have difficulty even remembering what I want in my life.
And once I did recollect a few things - I vaguely remember something about stability, moving to a child-worthy home, adopting children, travel, making the every day aspects of life an adventure, being creative, helping other people, eating a balanced and healthy diet, figuring out a way to be active with a foot and ankle disability - I got tremendously depressed. Broken dreams are difficult to reconcile under the best of circumstances. In the worst of circumstances reviewing broken dreams is not advisable.
And then I reached waaaaay back, I mean way, way, way back. And revisited what I really wanted in life. You know, before my soul was crushed and I tried to make due with revised desires and hopes and goals.
Um. Yeah. Well. Talk about depressing.
A love-based committed marriage with an intelligent, funny, compassionate, nice guy with similar core values and life outlook. A modest but nice home. A stable career that allows me to use my creativity and insight in positive ways. A couple children. A vacation or two. Helping other people. Being a regular but vital member of society.
Not exactly lofty goals, are they? That's pretty much SOP for everyone. Most people find someone who loves them enough to marry them. I know there are other single people out there. But. There are more married people than single people. Most people get married. It's not a lofty or idealistic dream. It's normal. Even really, really stupid people do it.
But nope, not me. No one wants me. So. Scratch that off the goal list.
Once married, many people work and save money to buy a home.
Okay, well, I retooled that goal to make it singleton achievable. I had to add a couple steps, work a little harder, take a little longer, but it's do-able. So I bought a tiny condo with the goal of selling it in a few years at a small profit, but enough to get me into a bigger, child-worthy home.
Well, thanks to unemployment and now foreclosure I can now scratch that re-tooled goal off the list. Even, even if I magically manage to keep my home in the 11th hour (not likely, as I am currently in the 11th hour), it will take a lot longer to sell at enough profit to move to a bigger place than originally anticipated. I planned on five years and that was extremely realistic at the time. Now it'll take at least another five years, maybe more, for the market to change enough to sell at enough profit to move to a bigger place. That's three additional years, or more. And by then adoption agencies are not going to be exactly eager to even look at my application. It's rough enough to get past the single/zero hurdle at adoption agencies. Social workers like to place children in two-parent homes, or failing that, homes where a single parent has proven success with other children. Add my increasing age to the mix and it's a total non-starter.
So. Scratch those two re-tooled goals off the list.
So that leaves working and traveling.
No one wants to hire me. So. Yeah. That's problematic.
But I do have a gazillion air miles.
So technically I can travel. But. Once I get wherever I go I need, you know, actual money. I'm not scratching it off my list, but, that goal, that aspect of my life is on hold due to a lack of funds. Unless I just travel from airport to airport, and don't think for a minute I haven't considered that possibility. I have honestly planned the logistics of an around the world trip solely on planes and in airports. Technically it's possible. And technically I can do it, I have enough air miles to do it at least twice, three times if I'm clever about the logistics.
And the pattern emerges. I accept failure but not defeat. When I fall short of a goal I re-tool and re-visit and re-organize my goals, my plans, my life, myself.
But now I think it's time to admit defeat. I've re-tooled, re-visited and re-organized my goals, my life and myself so many times that I'm not me anymore. I'm an amorphous blob, a lump of mixed up DNA taking up valuable molecules better used on more successful members of my species.
Oh, chin up, Trill, this is just a rough patch, you're depressed and upset and scared and who wouldn't be? A lot of people are going through this right now. It's hard times.
Yeah. I know. I know.
But.
Not one facet of my life is how I want it to be and the harder I try to change, the farther away from my goals I get. Working hard, making a lot of effort, seems to have an inverse impact, which flies in the face of logic and empirical data. Which means I'm not doing it properly. I change, re-tool, re-organize, but apparently not the right way or at the right times. Which means I'm a failure and now I think it's time to admit and accept defeat. Obviously I'm incredibly unhappy with and in my life. I think I'm a pretty okay person, even a good person at times, and I find as much joy as I can from the little things in life, but ultimately there's not one aspect of my life that's how I want it and every attempt (repeated, and repeated and re-tooled attempts) end in failure, and from there I pick myself up, brush off the affront to my pride and hopes, and update my goals and myself.
I've done it one too many times. I don't know who I am and have difficulty remembering who I was before the crap of life(?) happened and I started re-adjusting and re-formatting my goals, plans and life. I'm just too far away, now, to get back home, to myself. I'd like to find the old me, the original me, but she was full of hopes and dreams and lofty ideals. She'd be afraid of me. She wouldn't want anything to do with me. She'd think, "Wow, that's sad, she's really sad, but that'll never happen to me...I have goals! And plans! And hope, lots and lots of hope! Someone as smart and full of wonder as I am will never end up like that!" Yeah. I used to be plucky and enthusiastic about myself and my future.
Now I'm depressed and fearful.
And I don't want to live that way. That's not who or how I am, it's not my definition of living and not helpful to anyone, least of all myself.
This is usually where I say, "Oh get over yourself. You're just down and depressed, this, too, shall pass. The sun will rise tomorrow and you'll take a deep breath and revise your goals and move on."
But now, this time, I can't formulate a goal that I deem worthy of bother. Even, even if I miraculously get a job and somehow manage to keep a roof over my head, is that really what I want from life(?)? Scraping by, always re-inventing myself to accommodate the revised goals set after yet another failure?
Where's the joy in that? I am, yes, even now, a joyful person. I can find it in almost anything. But. When the most joy you can find is the thrill of being able to afford a quart of fresh blueberries, well, I mean, you know, I like blueberries but c'mon, is that really all there is to life? Maybe so, and you know, not to discredit fresh blueberries. Fresh Michigan blueberries are pretty awesome. Especially when they're on sale and I can scrape together $3 to afford them. But. I mean. You know. They're blueberries. How much joy can I really get from them and how long can it sustain me?
When do you accept and admit defeat? In the end.
Don't get all freaky about this, yes, I, do consider suicide but I would never do that to my mother. Never.
But I'm not me, not who or how I want to be and even trying as hard as I can (reveling in the joy of $3 worth of fresh blueberries, for instance), doing everything in my power (and even reaching beyond my power) I'm still failing. And not just failing at one goal, I'm failing at everything and falling even farther behind. The logical next step is to stop trying.
So.
That's what I'm going to do. The failure hurts too much, now, and the revised goals are weak and stupid and not "me" at all. They're consolation prizes. And I'm not even achieving a consolation prize. Which means I'm not even in the game.
Which is not me. Or not who I was. Or who I want to be.
So.
I don't know that I'm "giving up" as much as I am just finally, finally accepting defeat.
So.
Losers can be humorous but they're boring. Monotonous.
You know how this life(?) goes. Goal, attempt, failure; goal, attempt, failure. Ad infinitum.
You are all great people and good friends and I'm sorry if you're disappointed in me. Believe me, no one is more disappointed in me than I am. I really let myself down and somehow managed to make a complete shambles of myself and my life.
This isn't "oh poor me," this is finally, finally accepting not the failures, but also the defeat. Surrender. That's it, surrender. Admitting that in the end it will have all been a colossal failure and why not just cut to that chase.
I will continue to exist, a lump of DNA taking up valuable molecules but I'm not so sure about the blog. I'm continually shocked, even all these years later, that anyone reads it, and continues to read it. Absolutely, mind-boggling shocked by that. Really and truly it's beyond fathomable to me that you're sitting there reading this.
But I'm boring and it's just the same thing over and over and over again. Oh sure, the occasional Most Affected Man or weird job interview or ridiculous friend situation arises, and it's humorous because life(?) is pretty funny if you choose to look at it that way. But it's really just the same thing, different day.
Ultimately I suppose that's the take-away. If I give anything to the Universe I hope it's a lesson in learning to laugh at yourself and your life. It is funny if you choose to see the humor in it. Most of you do that, so it's not a lesson you need to learn, especially from me.
I have a lot going on in the next few weeks. My brother is helping me move my essentials to my mothers' house, putting the rest in storage and we're de-Dadding my parents' house, prepping my mother for a move to a more suitable retirement community. I'll stay in my parents' house until it's sold or until I find a job that will pay me enough to pay rent. If that doesn't happen, well, then, it's mooching off friends and couch surfing or camping.
I can see the humor in just about anything, but try as I might I can't find anything remotely comedic or interesting about what happens next. Maybe, you know, who knows? Maybe homelessness is funnier than I think it is. If so, I'll let you know.
It's not good-bye, I'd love to hear from you, most of you have great things going on in your lives and I'm very pleased for you and I'd love to keep up with what's going on with you. It's safe to assume, at this point, that nothing good will be going on with me and I don't want to be that lonely, depressed, sad, weary friend who can never quite get her shit together and brings down the party. That's not me. That's not how I am. I don't want to be that person. And I have tried, and tried and tried to put a good spin on all of it, trying to convince myself and everyone else that I can make the best of it, see the humor in it and resiliently moving forward, trying again and revising goals and moving in a new direction.
You know the quotes. "We are not retreating, we are advancing in another direction." "It's a process, not an event." "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."
That's really the sum total of it.
Maybe somehow, someway I'll emerge from this and be re-energized and back here before you know it. But right now I just can't do this anymore. As cathartic as it is, as fun as it is, as much as I love all of you, the whole "what's the point? The point is there is no point!" aspect is tedious. "What's the point?" Well, there isn't one, really. I'm a lonesome, unemployed, homeless loser no one wants to hire or date. I have valiantly tried to rise above, make lemonade, re-tool and re-invent myself. Lots of people love being single. Lots of people use a job lay-off as a springboard to new and exciting careers. But they want to be single, they want a career change.
I don't, and never did, want to be single. I hate being single and always have hated being single. I don't "need" a man, but I like to be with a man, I like being in a good relationship. I don't want to be single. That's what differentiates us lonely singles from contented singles. If us lonely singles could flip a switch and not want to be single, we would. But it's part of our personalities, who we are, we want to be with someone in a good relationship. We want that as much as contented singles don't want to be in a relationship. Ditto the career issue. I was stressed and dealing with a lot of crap at my former job (thanks, nincompoop sycophantic liar of a boss) but I liked my work. I liked what I did. I liked my clients. My work, what actually did, was fulfilling. I don't want a new career. I liked my old one. I wasn't sitting on some wish or dream about a different career. There was no hobby I longed to turn into a new career. There was no desire to leave it and pursue a dream or new line of work. Sure, a different company, the same job at a different company, yes, that would be great. But. It's not happening. And I have no idea what to do to make a living. I'm overqualified for a lot of jobs, and not qualified for a lot of other jobs. The unemployment offices tells me they'll train me to be a plumber or learn Spanish so I can get a bilingual telemarketing job. That pays a little more than minimum wage. I'm not really clever with pipes and wrenches and unfortunately minimum wage doesn't pay rent. Maybe I'm the world's greatest plumber and I just don't realize it. Maybe my future lies in bilingual telemarketing. Maybe I need to be more accepting of these opportunities. N'est-ce pas? I don't think I have latent, dormant dreams for either of those careers, but who knows? Maybe I would find them deeply rewarding. I'm mulling it over, considering it, figuring out the logistics of the training. It depresses me to the point of tears to think about both of those career options, but I've run out of other options, so, I really don't have a choice.
Accepting and admitting defeat. White flag raised. Surrender.
I'm doing this now as a preemptive measure. July 31, 2008 my dad died. July 31, 2009, I was laid off. I'm not superstitious, but let's just say I'm keeping my head down and bracing for impact of what July 31, 2010 may bring. I'm getting everything taken care of before then.
Tidying up loose ends and all that. So, you know, there you are. Loose end of the blog tied.
Maybe I should have guest bloggers? If anyone wants to post anything here send it to me. I'll post it. Maybe that would be fun for you - you could all get to know each other. Kind of like a cocktail party. Yeah, that could be funny, send me a Trillian-inspired post and I'll post it.
Or.
Just.
Accept. Forgive. Heal. Peace. Love. Duh.
Do it.
Only a handful of people are interested in Just Drive, She Said. I'll post the rest at some point or I'll send you the full doc if you want it. Chapter VII is now live.
