I sat down to finish a blog post I’d started on yesterday morning and the further and further I got into it, the shittier it got. No, really – it was shit-TAY. So shitty, in fact, that I deleted the entire thing and proceeded to post THIS on my Facebook wall:
So, I guess you guys are cool with me being a whiny little bitch about not being able to write. I’m on deadline for two books and all I could do yesterday was lament about my can’ts and chug endless quantities of Vitamin Water Zero. And while I did actually get some editing done on Book Number One, the day was a colossal waste with regards to productivity.
And this Bitch Slap is on me.
Can’t. What the fuck is up with that? Since when have I been a can’t person? If I don’t, then it won’t get done. If I don’t do it, then who the hell is going to? Apparently I’ve led myself to believe that a mythical elephant is going to soar across the skies and crap Do It Fairies into my backyard…and in such case, the dogs wouldn’t eat them and they’d fly into my house/office and start DOING? Read that sentence again. There is so much wrong with that sentence, I don’t know where to begin. (The most glaring error being that my dogs would definitely eat the fairies and would eat them on the sofa so I would have to wash all of the cushion covers three times to get the fairy juice out.)
During what’s probably been the most incomprehensibly screwed-up ten months of my life, I’ve had days where I can’t. Where breathing was a chore and I didn’t have enough hands to pick up the pieces…the kitchen was too far away so I didn’t eat and the garage was even further, so leaving my house was out of the question. But today, I sit in the midst of one of the most incredible years of my professional life, wondering when the personal is going to catch up. So when the professional gets all screwy, I pull a can’t maneuver?
I believe, if in no god or no single political party, in the beauty of human resilience. I bounce, goddammit. And when I short-change myself by pulling a “bank’s empty!” move and let the can’ts take hold, well…what the hell is all of this for then?
What can’t I do?
Of all the things I can come up with to put on a list, there is only one out of my control: changing the past. All of that shit’s done and gone and might as well be in boxes in the basement with all those stuffed koala bears and bowling trophies and a spider or two named Bob. But if I tell myself I can’t change things, then I might as well quit now.
There really is nothing out of my influence. I think control is an illusion. When we spend all of our time trying to control things, the most beautiful things in life pass us by – those that just happen. And it’s possible that if I step back and put on my big girl britches from Frederick’s, I might find that I have some kickass influencing to get started.
So if you, dear readers, find you can’t, the odds are you won’t. And if you don’t, no one else will. Stop it with the ongoing cycle of pity parties (and I do commit to joining you in abandoning these soirees as well).
So what are you waiting for? Tell the contractions to stick it. Can’t, don’t, won’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t, haven’t, aren’t, isn’t and any of the other fuckers that they keep company with…
Beat it. Because I could. So I did – I just wrote an entire blog post about it.
You’ve been slapped. (and so have I…)