Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Not Where I Want To Be, Don't Know Who the Hell I Am

Geez, y'all, after my first post, I just sorta went downhill from there, didn't I? Really, my every intention was to post something right after that, and I must have started three posts with the intention of posting at least one of them, but that didn't happen -- why?

Well, truth be told, I've been in sort of a funk, an existential dilemma, a mid-life crisis of sorts. I realized here I am, 47 years old, and I'm not anywhere where I want to be. I also went on a lovely one-week vacation with my boyfriend to Washington, which should have refreshed me, but only made me more irritable with the life I have here in Texas when I got back. I mean, geez-louise, who wants to come back to a hot, dry, firey hell-hole after being in a place that's green, cool and has plenty of water?

But it's not just the climate here that's bugging the s**t out of me; it's that I'm just not happy with my life, damnit. I never married, never had children, won't have any grandchildren, haven't had much career success, can't seem to manage my money or make more money than just enough, can't seem to become enlightened, or organized, or clear-headed, or able to even pull my head out of my fat ass.

I've tried being a born-again Christian, a semi-Buddhist, a mystic, a new agey healer, a counselor, an enlightened being, and I still don't know who the hell God is, and I find that most of the time I act as if I'm agnostic, cuz I can't seem to trust that God will help me, cuz I'm not even sure if God is there, though I believe that God is. I'm told God and I are One, and while I've had those brief moments of transcendental bliss, of course it never sticks, and I'm left alone again. I'm angry, I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm stuck, I'm not where I want to be, I'm not who I want to be, I'm scared s**tless, I'm angry. And I'm tired. No much seems to have worked according to plan.

Last night I watched a clip on the Huffington Post of an ad George Clooney did for a bank in Norway where a woman wakes up from what is probably an alcoholic blackout and finds she's gotten married to George Clooney, of all people. To me she has a look of horror on her face. I'm sure most people think it's more a look of a shocked, OMG I'm married to George Clooney, how fabulously lucky I am!!! But to me it's a look of horror - like, I don't even know George Clooney and now I'm not going to be a private person, everybody's going to try to find out everything about me, I'll have the paparazzi following me everywhere -WTF!!! At least I think that's how I'd feel, even though I was married to gorgeous, hunky, fabulously wealthy George Clooney.

And I started to imagine about what this would be like. I think if I woke up and found I was married to George Clooney, I'd just tell him that whatever happened that made me decide to marry him, that I didn't remember meeting him or agreeing to this, and could he just quietly divorce me please, and maybe just give me a couple of million dollars in alimony so I could quit my job and live the modest, quiet life I want to live doing what I want - have my tiny house in the country, paint, write, garden, raise goats. A couple of mill would be a bargain for old George, right?

But then I had a stranger fantasy: what if I woke up in a parallel universe as me, the soul I am now, but in the body of a Zippy who had accomplished all she'd ever dreamed of and more, who'd met George Clooney on the set of a movie based on a famous book she'd written, fell in love with him and then married him? But I would wake up the morning after the wedding with the soul of the Zippy I am now because I'd traded souls with the other, more accomplished Zippy, so I had no memory of this, only of my life in this particular universe I inhabit now.

Yet I'd wake up and find out that in this alternate universe I'd become this famous novelist who was also an accomplished poet, singer-songwriter, artist, and successful businesswoman. AND I had naturally red hair (instead of having to dye it from my natural mousey brown hair), a great toned body, and naturally perfect skin (because I'd also discovered a natural secret to maintaining a wrinkle-free complexion). And George Clooney fell in love with me, even though we are close to the same age, because I was different than any other woman he'd met, and I was the one woman (besides his first wife) that he realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and apparently I felt the same way. But I had no freakin' memory of any of this, whatsoever, and in the life I've been used to inhabiting (this one), even though I thought George Clooney was a handsome man, I've never had the least inkling of wanting to date or even marry the guy, nor have I even fantasized about having sex with him (and yes, I know most heterosexual women are now thinking either I'm a lesbian or asexual, but I am assuredly hetero).

Anyway, so I woke up to this dream that many women long and lust for, and I didn't want it, even if it meant breaking poor George's heart. Since I had accomplished a lot on my own, I didn't need his money whatsoever. But I find that I'm supposed to be this incredibly busy, in demand woman who is in charge of a multimillion publishing, health and beauty empire, far more than I ever dreamed of, and I'd find that I didn't want it. I didn't have the stamina to deal with it. I'd find that even though this me in this alternate universe had accomplished all that she'd ever dreamed and way beyond that, and I didn't want that. I'd still want my quiet little life in the country.

So, in the meantime I've broken George Clooney's heart, caused a big scandal by deciding to sell all of my empire, give away all but a few million dollars (I'm not a total saintly ascetic here) and get my tiny house in the country and live like a hermit, except I'd want to track down my boyfriend and see if he could still fall for me and if so then we'd live together in the country - well, maybe he'd have his own tiny house - and we'd live happily ever after.

Meanwhile, the alternate Zippy has entered my body in this particular universe, horrified and disgusted with where she's ended up, but she's gonna fix it up, by god! She sets off, finding a novel I started and totally rewriting it, making plans for her empire and to get back to George. She's very unhappy at where she landed, but she's going to make it right!

And then, suddenly after some big event, like a tornado or earthquake or something, she comes back into her own universe in my body, where I am currently inhabiting in her body, pissed that she had to come to my chubby, gray-mousey-haired body that hadn't accomplished a damn thing, and now pissed that she's come back to her world to discover I'd divorced George, given away her empire and was shacking up in a little place in the country with my boyfriend who'd she'd broken up with in the previous universe because he wasn't George. (And this is not to say that there is anything wrong with my boyfriend - remember I divorced George in the alternate universe to be with my boyfriend, who is worth a thousand George Clooneys, but he seems not to be the other Zippy's cup of tea, thank god - and he wouldn't be happy with her either).

And she'd point her finger at me and tell me what a sorry-assed loser I was, and how she had to try and salvage my life and make it into something. ("I found a half-assed attempt at a novel you'd started about some pathetic poor soul like you trying to get it on with some young geeky guy after her husband left her, and I was just cleaning it up and making it soooo much better when I came back to see what a freakin' wreck you've made of my life, you lazy bitch). And I'd just look at her and say, "Meh."

Anyway, it'd make a great movie, so maybe I should write a screenplay and maybe I'll sell it and make a zillion dollars and they'll make the movie with George Clooney and I'll finally get to meet him (but I still won't want to marry him). Anywho, I am seriously getting off point here. The point is, even if I landed in the life of my wildest dreams and was successful far beyond what I could ever imagine, I'm not sure that I would be happy there, either. It would be too damn stressful.

Today the Bloggess wrote a great post about her shrink telling her she needed to figure out who she was and what she wanted, maybe try that old 5-year plan thing. This to a woman who has a successful blog, several succesful online columns and a book coming out next year! Not to mention a picture of Wil Wheaton collating paper and Fred Armison photographically approving of her "Put a Bird on It" merchandise after the Portlandia legal department got all carried away with her using a line from their show! Anyway, I and about 5 bazillion of her closest friends could definitely relate to the dilemma this request threw her in. I mean, who but only 1/10th of a percent of type A people manage to make a 5-year plan, AND STICK TO IT??? WTH, people?

Nothing I've ever tried has come to plan. I was going to go to Washington, DC, become a famous journalist and write the Great American Novel by 30, get married at 25 and have kids by 28, and NONE of that happened. Then I went to grad school to become a famous counselor who became gloriously enlightened, figured out a way to save the world, wrote best selling self-help books that changed everyone's lives and led the way to World Peace by the time I was 50, or maybe 60 at the latest. That isn't happening either. I do exaggerate a bit - I wasn't trying to become a world famous counselor who saves the world, but I did have the intention of becoming a counselor, and that hasn't panned out either, and I'm not sure it should (more on this at another time). (And well, maybe in the back of my mind I was hoping I'd become a world-famous counselor who saves the world).

Instead I'm sitting here in a soul-sucking job, writing in this blog when I really should be working, but it's so damn BORING that I can't bear to do the work, and for the life of me I can't seem to get my employers to lay me off. Yes, I'm grateful to have a job, especially in this economy and I feel bad that I have such a sucky attitude, but that's sort of the way it is right now. No, I'm not where I want to be, no sir.

Don't really know who I am either. Some might say a loser, but I don't want to dwell on that. Confused, perhaps. Wacky, yes. Half-Baked, of course! I did name myself the Half-Baked Gardener, didn't I? Well, then this posting is perfectly in line with my blog theme! Who knew? Maybe I should just revel in that!

The Bloggess also posted this fabulous video of a song by Amanda Palmer (below). I never heard of Amanda Palmer, or this song, but it pretty well describes how I'm feeling right now, and I just love it, particularly near the end when she says, "Fuck yes! I am who I want to be!" Basically it's about thinking that you want to be one thing, feeling bad that you're something completely different, and you come to the realization that you've been who you wanted to be all along, and that's fabulous. This is a damn revelation for me, people. I'm gonna have to meditate on this for a while.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I love comments! Please let me know what you think - and I promise, NO frickin' CAPTCHA. I hate it too!