Expectations

Motivation can do great things. Luck can do great things. Skill can do great things.

Nothing is guaranteed.

You may have noticed. I lack follow through (last blog? A year ago.) Great intentions and all that jazz. Shit storms are hitting now, though, so a release is indicated.

I'm dyslexic. I hold an accounting position at work. Tell me how this works, please? Tell me who thought it was a good idea to move somebody who sees no physical difference between 69 and 96 into an authority position in regards to numbers, and more importantly, money? Needless to say, I fucking hate this fucking job. I've been at this fucking desk for over two years. Every glorious morning I wake up more sullen than the one previous. Every day I get home more, and more pissed off at the world. Every day my heart breaks just a little bit more as I send out more applications and resumes. To what point and purpose? Fuck it all. Five years out, and nothing to show for it. Fuck it all.

I started running as a release, and as an excuse to get my fat ass a bit more in shape. I joined this great group of ladies who, with much less experience, and much more going against them than I have, started the Couch To 5K program. Today is my last run (WOOHOO!). I was supposed to be done two weeks ago. I've tried everything to avoid the excuses, the pathetic, 'Woe is me' bullshit that plagues this society... Can't do it. My knee went out twice in one day after my first 'virtual 5K race'. It's just now resuming some form of what a knee should look like. Never mind the bruises though. What the fuck was I thinking? I fucking hate running! With the passion of a thousand burning suns. Fuck it all. I'm done, and I feel guilty. I was the fucking genius who said, "Hey friends! Let's RUN! Physical fitness isss guud, right?!" and now I'm letting everybody down. It's how I roll. Fuck it all.

Yesterday was a bit more than I could bear. Life has officially gotten in the way of... Life. I never wanted to live like this. Work to pay bills, pay bills to get to work, rotting away at a desk, making excuses for myself, constantly hating who I am and taking it out on my husband and son. They deserve better than that, better than a self loathing, psuedo-emo, brat.

What the flying fuck is wrong with me? Why can't I just be 'happy'?

"Hurt" as performed by Johnny Cash:

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel.
I focus on the pain;
The only thing that's real.


The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting.
Try to kill it all away
But I remember every thing


What have I become
My sweetest friend?
Every one I know
Goes away in the end


And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make hurt.


I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair


Beneath the stains of time
The feeling disappears
You are someone else
I am still right here


What have I become
My sweetest friend?
Every one I know
Goes away in the end


And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt


If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way


I will keep myself
I will find a way

"Invictus" by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pole from pit to pit
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.


In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody but unbowed.


Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds me and shall find me unafraid.


It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

Words I've tried to live by; words centering in my future tattoo. Words that have saved my life. Words that have MADE my life.

So, why are they failing me now? No. Why am I failing me now?