Army of Snot
Right now, I am having doubts over whether I will be able to “make it” now that I’m free. I know my thoughts are normal – I think almost anyone in my position would hold similar ones. Shoot, probably most people have these thoughts at times. None of us have any guarantee that what we do will result in financial or any other type of security. Maybe we’re all just winging it.
These thoughts are new to me though. Always before, I had a husband who took care of me financially. I had faith that if I did my part, then we would be just fine. Now I have to do everything I used to do AND do “his part” so I can earn money for the boys and me.
I don’t know if Will thinks about it that way. Does he think that now he has to do “my part” too? But then, that’s not my business. Wondering what he thinks keeps me stagnant at a time where I want to be a rolling stone. You know, gathering no moss.
So when I start to doubt my viability as a writer, when I start to wonder if I should take the promise of big money tomorrow in exchange for a career that doesn’t involve creativity, then I have to remind myself to stop diminishing my thoughts and denying what I know I want for the sake of imagined security. My “security” up to this point has been a sham anyway. What do I know of security? I’ve deluded myself into thinking that I was safe at home when I wasn’t safe at all.
I just noticed something else…ugh. I feel secure when I am sad.
Shit. Now I’m crying…but it’s not sadness…What is this?
I am feeling “familiar” thoughts. I am feeling crushed, hopeless and alone. My sinuses are friggin’ stuffed up already as if the snot was hanging out behind my eyeballs just waiting to drop.
I don’t know the words for this.
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In the interim, I went to get some coffee. There was almost four inches of snow on the ground! Real Snow!
I called the boys in to look at it, and they took off into it. I was watching them, then thought, “Why not?!” I ran to put on my shoes and coat, then snuck up on Marc with a snowball! We ran around the yard, Marc, Eddie and me, throwing snow balls.
I got hit in the eye and declared myself winner ’cause I got hurt. The boys said I was the loser ’cause I got hurt. Boy, the rules have sure changed since I was seven and playing with my dad in the snow.
We ran and threw and laughed. Marc took a high position and creamed me, so I took it out on Eddie hiding on the other side of the boat. Eddie was too sweet to get me back.
Now, back in the house, snowy pants exchanged for pajamas, I think that the best way to describe those “familiar” thoughts and the feelings that go along with them is to not describe them at all.
Those are old thoughts about old things. The best way to stop tormenting myself with old thoughts is to create new ones. Pretty soon, the new thoughts of laughter and my boys and snowball fights in the crisp night will replace the old ones that required an army of snot to fuel them.
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