I usually get really over my BIG ideas after I read about others in the field that are better at what I want to do or have actually made it. And then I get discouraged. You know that little voice inside your head that provides discretion and pragmatic logic?( The Eeyore?)
Yeah, well mine is a 400 lb. angry bitch on the rag with a bullhorn saying, "what the cock are you doing? Are you ready to totally fuck up? Are you really up for responsibility? That's a little too much for you, you are incapable of really doing anything. Here honey, take you shoes off and get your ass in the kitchen and cook me up some shit. There's a good girl, look, you don't need to be important, because your needed."
So then I go to focus on the daily chores handed down to me from my children, like pizza under the rug. I'm squashed by my bitch before I even begin to take steps forward. My failure has allready been planned out, so I don't need to think about furthering my desires in that route.
And then, with a turn of her big, fat moo-moo, the large rain cloud of an internal opinion sheds the beastly cocoon to unveil a very thin, very pretty product of the fifties, complete with hair in place, lipstick perfect dress in perfect accord and opinions properly addressed. "Now, what do we really need? A strong man, and a secure future. If you must get a job, make it something that you could actually do that's not too hard, and doesn't require a lot of skills, because my dear, you really don't have a whole lot of experience with a whole lot. Well, with the exception of spreading your legs, but I hardly think that's appropriate. Now, let's find you a nice job in a call center, and, if your lucky, you might just get to be a receptionist when you learn how to properly navigate through JC Penny's, your a wreck. Who would really want to hire you? But there's always a market for people like you, because your turnover is just so high. But you can work that to your advantage. For your sake, let's just hope your boss likes fat girls with cleavage and can't find spelling errors."
Both have kept me pretty much in check for the past few years. If one doesn't work, the other would step in. A self flagellation done by my internal 'odd couple'. The origin of where these ladies have come from is unraveling now that I've placed a face on each one. We'll call the fat one 'Momarella' and the 50's mother 'June'. Momarella is the product of my high school experience. She is the blush that occurs every time I speak in front of people, or discuss something of importance to me. She looks at me and says "Damn I would be humiliated right now. Aren't you? Let's see you do that again." My blush. It made me shy in a lot of situations. Then I started drinking and she had to get the bull horn.
June came after the alcohol, after the baby. She has kept me nice and safe for years. I haven't tried very many new things. Just working out ( so I don't disappoint my husband, because "he'll leave you if you don't up the ante soon," June tactfully reminds me) and taking care of your children ("Crackheads keep their house cleaner than you, my dear. And you wouldn't want people thinking that, would you, Rose?" She adds.) And taking care of children is much more challenging than I am capable of , according to June, so why would I add to that strain and make myself less of a mother?
I'm working on quashing these bitches. It's not easy, as you can see they are interwoven into every day of my life, but I'm just not feeling like listening. I'm using them against themselves. Using them as ammunition this time. Lock and load, bitches, your going down.
More to come soon.
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