If wishes came true, I’d be about 8 or 9 again, before the entire world fell apart. My grandmother would be alive, my grandfather would be alive, and my parents would not have morphed into miserable people for who I was an after thought. Gas would still be less than $.40 a gallon, the murder rate would be 1/5 of what it is today, and people wouldn’t be arguing about the skin color of their chosen deity. My cousins would be all around me, and I’d feel like I belonged there. I wouldn’t believe that I was stupid and ignorant and I’d understand the tiny little world around me.

But wishes don’t come true, at least not regularly. Sometimes when they do come true, you realize you shouldn’t have wished for them at all, because there were things you didn’t know about or details you left out or dependencies you didn’t count on. Like the old joke that asks what is life, and the answer returned is $.25. But I only have a dime, the querant replies. And the answer is returned…well, that’s life.

And so it is. Mercy, mercy me – things ain’t what they used to be. Live is constantly surprising me. Today, I did absolutely nothing. I ate a bit of my leftover meal from yesterday, and I played at some online jigsaw puzzles. I thought about all kinds of things from long ago, and went to the bathroom for punctuation. I had great plans, but I did…nothing.

Everything I did outside the apartment seemed to involve dodging someone else trying to do the same thing at the same time – bringing the dog down the stairs, taking the dog into the activity area, sitting all alone all by myself like Cat Stephens. Somebody was always there, wanting to be there in that same place, oblivious to my presence (even with an insanely barking dog). Self-centered butt holes.

The thing about moods like this is…mama said there would be days like this. There’s be days like this, mama said. I just have to ride them out, I suppose. Take my meds. Go to sleep and do this all again tomorrow. Bleh.

I was at my usual Saturday night 12-step meeting last night, and it was a bit heavy. Someone was telling a sad tale of having to put his husband into rehab, only the man’s alcohol level was too high and he was required to go to a detox unit first. The guy was understandably distressed, ad people shared various anecdotes about their experiences or thoughts on the matter. I found myself talking about when I was on the other side of that, and people were telling me they didn’t want to watch me kill myself and so had to distance themselves. My response at the time was surly and dismissive – nobody wants to come face to face with their own shit. It smells and somebody else really needs to clean that up. So I get that.

What was a little surprising was one part of what I shared, about feeling that if people would just “do right”, everything would be fine. If they loved me enough they would change and I wouldn’t have to go through distancing myself when they were behaving badly. Where the eff did THAT come from? I really have no idea, but it didn’t feel good, and still doesn’t feel good.

My takeaway from that unexpected little jewel of clarity is…relationships pretty much suck. Love is not enough. Nobody can love you enough to change who they are, or how they are. I couldn’t love my mother enough to change my sexual orientation, and she couldn’t love me enough to change her resistance to medication. My grandmother couldn’t love any of us enough to not have cancer and stay. She’d be dead by now, so what does it matter?

I told the guy last night that I have to own all that mess that’s rolling around inside me when I am feeling like I really have a say in how somebody else runs their life, even if it’s killing them. That’s easier said than done, I was saying, because it hurts. And to avoid that pain is what drove a lot of us to getting so out of control. It certainly was for me.

So, all of that plus about $4 will get me a cup of coffee at Cafe’ du Monde (I was stunned to learn the other day that a large coffee there is going for such an incredible price – I remember when it was less than $1, but I digress). So, I’m in one of those moods. One of those moods where I really want to go downstairs and snatch some random fool off his noisy motorcycle and just bang his head on the gas tank. Repeatedly. Ugh.

I still want a snowball. I still want people to do right. And I still want somebody else to come in and clean up my shit. This place is a mess, and I just want to come back from walking the dog and find it miraculously clean. Why aren’t there miracles these days? Or at least those moments like “Bewitched” where somebody twitches their nose or casts a spell and magic happens. No, I get responsibility and accountability and bills to pay and dogs to feed and medication to take. Bleh.

Perhaps I shall take my bad mood and do something else. I ate an entire pack of double-stuff Golden Oreos between yesterday and this morning, so I can legitimately flagellate myself for something non-productive. I’ll go ahead and get that out of the way shortly, then go back to jigsaw and/or crossword puzzles until I’m sleepy…to sleep, and perchance dream. But no wishing for idyllic scenes from the past. Or even the future. I’m told wherever I go, that’s where I am, and right now that might not be optimal. Bleh.

Not this mess again…

Published by annzimmerman

I am Louisiana born and bred, now living in Winston Salem, North Carolina. Fortunately for me, I was already living in NC before Hurricane Katrina decimated my beloved New Orleans. An only child, I now feel that I have no personal history since the hurricane destroyed the relics and artifacts of my childhood. As I have always heard, c'est la vie. My Louisiana roots show in my love of good coffee, good food, and good music. My soggy native soil has also shown me that resilience is hard-wired in my consciousness; when the chips are down (or drowned)...bring it on.

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