Seriously sometimes I wonder why I was given such a big, shiny, enticing, slam- hard-with-the-heel-of-your-hand self destruct button in comparison with everyone else’s discrete, hidden-under-the-desk doorbell sized one.
I’m fretting about money and being jobless at the moment, and after having being careful for months, what do I go and do?
That’s right, I log onto an expensive, high end online store and order two items of clothing that, whilst are in the sale, are still very pricy, and too warm to wear until winter comes again at the end of the year.
I then go onto Amazon to buy one book that I need and end up buying a whole load of shit off my wish list.
This is me all over though. At those times when I’m really worried about an oncoming storm, and should by all rights go hide in a panic room, medicate and lie low instead of tempting fate, I go outside to the nearest golf course in a makeshift tinfoil dress with a TV aerial hat on my head, and a tree branch in each mitt, and dance around in the rain, thunder and lightning yelling ‘Cooeee! I’m here! Come and get me! You know you want to!’
I don’t know anyone else who does this.
I do have a couple of theories though.
Sometimes I think I’m testing the Man Upstairs just to see if he’ll save me from myself. Risky business that.
Sometimes I think it’s because I can’t bear the suspense, and feel that if the bad thing is going to happen, let’s get it out of the way and do it now.
I’ve employed this particular strategy whenever I’m being followed by some creep or would be mugger. Instead of cringing, hiding, or looking for the nearest police station, I tend to turn around and stare them out a la Clint Eastwood in a one horse town stylee as if to say ‘C’mon mothafucka, if you’re going to do something, look me in the eye and do it.’ And strangely enough, they either scurry past me or after a bit of eyeball duelling, decide I’m far too nutty to confront.
I suppose the way I left my last job was another case in point. I was so beside myself with worry and fear and stress, in the end I thought ‘Fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen?’ and unleashed the dogs of war. And felt a whole lot better for growing a backbone.
Quite why I want to be broke and destitute is anyone’s guess though?
I have my yoga teaching course in the next week though, and haven’t practiced enough or done my ‘homework’ so I am a bit stressed about that (more self sabotage), plus a couple of them can be pretty cliquey/bitchy. I know I have probably offended them by denying their Guru hospitality, and that I don’t always fall in with the way they want me to behave, so perhaps I’m just letting off steam via splurging to ameliorate all of that pent up anxiety.
I’m annoyed now. Why should I have to fret about this? For Christsakes I didn’t leave one dictator to go and work with another, and certainly didn’t expect this kind of level of expectation to conform in the world of yoga?
And if I’m going to be given a hard time and found lacking, then seriously, bitches? You need to pay me for the privilege of doing so. At least when working for Wankers R Us, I got to eat good lunches in fine restaurants as opposed to macrobiotic fart fuel and cardboard desserts. And what’s worse I’m paying them for the privilege!
Of course, as always, this might just be my paranoia and vivid imagination….sigh…it’s tough being this crazy…..
Everything’s good, everything is fine, everything’s good, every thing is fine, good, fine, good, fine…..
The sooner that ‘How to Stop People from Taking the Piss Without Killing Them First’ (Empath) book hits my doormat, the better, otherwise I’m going to end up telling these hippies to kiss my lycra clad arse and pull out of the course, which would be very self destructive indeed.
Time for bed. Perhaps I should leave my electric blanket on all night just to see what happens……