Relate And Relocate–Six Years Later

Monday, January 02, 2006

Relate And Relocate

It seems like every time I get this great idea for a blog entry I never get to the computer in time. This is mainly because my stupid apartment complex won’t fix the problem with my internet. I’ve gotta ask myself, “Why the hell are you paying so much for an internet-accessible apartment that doesn’t access the internet?” And then I answer myself, “Because you are stupid!” And an argument ensues… 

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot. I know, that’s what the burning smell was, right? Well, I’ve been thinking that just because you sacrifice a whole lot for a person, just because you love someone so much and relate to this person so much and do so much for this one person that you are willing to relocate halfway around the world just to be with The One doesn’t mean that it was meant to be. Just because a person says, “I love you!” And you say, “I love you, too!” And everything is as it is doesn’t mean that it’s all gravy and coconut cream pie if you know what I mean. 

Life sucks sometimes. Just when you think you’ve got all your ducks in a row, just when you think that everything is working out just the way you prepackaged it, someone comes along and fucks with the system you’ve created, or–worse still–you sabotage your own life plan. It’s like you want so very much for everything to be perfect, and then when it is you start picking it apart with a dull knife, circumcising the best of it, throwing out all the useless parts, until the only thing left is so ugly and full of scars that you can’t stand the sight of it, so you toss it out like yesterday’s garbage, but there’s only one problem, you’ll never miss yesterday’s garbage as much as you miss those things and people from which you have severed yourself. 

The next thing you know, you’re twenty-, thirty-, forty-, or fifty-something with nothing more to show for all the effort you’ve put in but a broken life and a buck fifty in spare change and you’re standing on a street corner waiting for the bus to take you to your next self-help group meeting and it hits you in the face like a Mac-truck, right then and there, you realize that you’ve really fucked things up big time, and you look back on the plans you made and the things you did and it all seems for naught. 

Then you pray to whatever deity you’ve come to sink your pitiful hopes into and they, of course, deliver nothing and you say, “Oh, well, ’tis nay to be!” And then you cry yourself to sleep every night in your lonely, too-big-for-you bed, and somewhere in between reassurances and Rocky-Road you discover that the key to your happiness, your nirvana, your chi was in your hands all along; you discover that your hands themselves are the key, and I’m not talking about sculpting or painting or gardening or guitar or any such thing, I’m talking about the key to your ecstasy lies within your own abilities to give yourself that forty five second high that comes naturally when you cum naturally. 

That, my friends, is when you stop searching the world over for the love of your life or the greatest riches or the most tasty food or the warmest summer or the coldest winter because you’ve finally discovered that if you can control your own orgasm you can control your own destiny, and when you’ve finally seen that you can then you will and all will be as it is meant to be for you will have made it that way, and then when you look back on all the stumbling blocks and bouncers in your life you will want to thank them for what they brought to the feasting table called your life; you will finally have achieved nirvana, and I’m not talking about the band, no, I’m talking about ultimate happiness like you’ve never even imagined before. 

Sister Hazel–You were the one who taught me what I don’t need, and I thank you; I thank you for that. You were the one that brought me to my senses, and I thank you; now just leave me alone!

I randomly heard Sister Hazel’s “Thank You” playing in my head (ask me sometime about the tiny DJ in my brain…).

I Googled, “you were the one who taught me what I don’t need” which is part of the lyrics to that song (I couldn’t remember the song’s name at first). Then, I Googled, “Sister Hazel Thank You.” At the top of my Google search results, Google informed me that I’d shared the song on Blogger on Jan 02 2006. The above is the entry in question.

Back then, my second-person rant was a twenty year old version of me wondering where my life was headed and what–if anything–I should do to fix it.

Here I am all these years later still wondering what I should do to fix it. Only now I’m a newly-separated mother of two. Only now I’m job-less (20yo me worked for HellMart). Only now I weigh 100 more pounds. But I have a few things on 20yo me–the girls being two of those things–such as my college degrees and lessons learned.

Sister Hazel still sings to me.

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