It's Complicated

I've been trying/planning/hoping to write more this year.  I need to write to dump a lot of the junk I carry.  It's as if once I get all of these words out of my head, I feel lighter, clearer, ready to move on again.  It's like this emotion all piles on and piles on and as I type (I don't like to write with a pen and that's another post), I can feel it dropping off letter by letter.

This is one of those days where I feel so complicated, so conflicted and so sad.  I feel like I don't have the right words or the correct labels to express how I feel.  I want so many things to be different, to be better but, I can't find the words to say what it is I want.  It comes out as kind of a jumbled mess in paragraphs of thoughts.  I just want something other than this.

It's days like this when I wish I had one of those Magnetic Poetry kits, the one titled Feelings - if there is such a thing.  I'd like a big metal board where I can throw up words like, confused, conflicted, morose, snarky, sarcastic, independent, somber, glum, loving, compassionate, sensitive and on and on and on.
I wonder at times if it's being a woman that complicates everything.  I look at men and well, they're so simple, they either eat it, sit on it or stuff it.  They don't need much else, right?

And I wonder if it's so complicated because I'm a reader.  I love this quote:  “You get a little moody sometimes but I think that's because you like to read. People that like to read are always a little fucked up.” ― Pat Conroy  

I do love to read and I am a little artsy, a little creative, somewhat of a visionary.  I am of a free-er spirit.  I'm not totally free becasue I have to follow some rules.  I don't like to be grounded or forced to think and yet my mind is going and thinking and planning.  All.  Of.  The.  Time.  It's difficult to turn it off.

I don't like to think of the negatives in this world.  Abuse, neglect, starvation, sickness or disease and if I dwell on those things too long, I get too sad.  I don't like to be sad.  It seems I'm always sad.  But, I'm not sad.  If I look sad, it's generally not sad.  It's likely pensive.  Deep in thought.  Because everything requires thought or to be analyzed.

I am somewhat spoiled in the ways of life, I know.  I can't undo that. I like nice things and I have expensive taste - how I came to LOVE Perrier with lime water, I will never know.  And though I do not know what it is like to be poor, I do know what it is like to have compassion for those in true need.  If you don't know this about me, I will give you the shirt off my back if you needed it.  Notice I said, "In true need"?  I have a ZERO tolerance for bullshit.  And I spent a lot of time on the farm.  I know me some bullshit when I smell it. I smell it from miles away.

I like to believe that all people are good.  That no one would ever intentionally hurt someone else.  I know it's not true, yet I am always disappointed to find out again and again.

I am genuine.  I don't pretend to be someone I am not. I don't pretend to have money, or things or a great writing ability, or tons of friends.  I'm not a good liar.  What you see is what there is.  What I give to you or tell you is my honest truth or the truth to the best of my knowledge.  I may exaggerate - for instance I like the number 900 - "I told you like 900 times... " but, this is me, all me.

It breaks my heart to be taken advantage of.  To be looked at as I have a silver spoon.  I do not.  I don't talk about my past because it's my past.  It's what made me, what shaped me and well, it's past.  I can't change it, I can't undo it and I can't blame anyone for it.  I promise you - no silver spoons here.  In high school, my mom gave me (I don't remember the exact amount) money, for school clothes and I remember, I had enough to buy 2 pairs of jeans I liked.  Every other night, I had to do laundry to have clean pants for school.  She didn't give me any more money for jeans.  She'd allow $X for shoes and if I wanted anything else, I had to pay the difference with my own money.  So though it looked like I had the best of everything, I didn't.  I only had the best of one thing and I worked an awful job with this bitch of a manager (that hated my guts because apparently my sister that was killed wronged her in some way and she felt it necessary to punish me) after school and weekends for the rest.

I am responsible.  Almost to a fault.  I am a rule follower and you won't find much higher integrity that what I have.  My job requires extreme attention to detail.  A high amount of respect.  And a work ethic like none you have ever seen before.  I am trusted with managing an insane amount of money day after day.  Most people have no clue what I even do.  That's okay.  My boss knows.  My company knows.  My suppliers know.  That's enough.  But, if you ask me, I'll explain it to you.  That paragraph was tough.  I don't generally give myself much credit.  I don't pat myself on the back and well, I like it when you do but, if it's too much, I get uncomfortable quick like!

I am independent.  I am strong.  I am determined.  I do not have a college degree but, I'm not dumb.  I am not stupid.  I may be ignorant in a few topics and I will tell you when that happens.  I am very well read.  I do have common sense though I do make some of the dumbest mistakes. I can laugh at myself and I don't really care if you laugh at me - well, as long as I'm laughing too, that is.  I am emotional.  I cry.  Easily sometimes.  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  I'm loud.  I'm opinionated.  I don't have tolerance for those who waste my time.  I believe in family.  I believe in friendship.  I believe in forgiveness.  I believe in God.

Yet, for all of these things that I am, somewhere someone thinks differently of me.  And maybe there are numerous someones.  There is someone who thinks I need to be shushed.  There is someone who thinks that I think I am better than they are.  There is someone who thinks because I do cry, that I am weak.  There is a small child who thinks that because I drive a nice car I should buy him what he wants from the local store. There is someone who asks my opinion and doesn't care to hear it.  There is someone who thinks I am spoiled, irresponsible, weak, ignorant or tolerant.  It's easy to say that is their problem yet there are days when it hits in the heart.  There I days when I think these things of myself and more - if only I were cuter, thinner, smarter, stronger...and then I realize again, that these things don't matter and I am who I am.

We're right back where we started from, aren't we?  I am who I am and it's complicated.