BLOG: The Shark is in the Box!

Sunday. Apparently tomorrow is yet another holiday. I guess this has officially been my “vacation” after all. It definitely feels like I just took a vacation. I needed a vacation. This town is such a drag. Time to start over fresh and ready with my new routines and get back to work.

Sticking to my workout schedule pretty faithfully, for the most part. Definitely preferring the intense yoga routines in heated rooms right now. Best thing in the cold, indifferent South Dakota winter. I also just want to not think about anything. I was doing Yin yoga for awhile and I just ended up crying after every class. Over it. I get that it’s an emotional release and all, but crying in front of a room full of yogis invites strangers into my business that feel the need to dispense more useless life advice, and I’m really not interested in hearing any more of that right now. Also, one should always be on guard in any yoga setting, lest you reveal too much, be too vulnerable, and end up in a cult. Yeah, you know I watched that Bikrim cult documentary. Not the first Yoga Cult I’ve encountered in my cult research. They’re all over the place. So yeah, I’m a little weary of it even though I love it. That’s why I’ll stick to the intense hot yoga stuff with the blasting music in the dark, heated room. Music so loud I can’t hear myself think. Perfect. Just what I need.

Went out last night in search of… something. It was a very odd moment. I walked around the block and stopped at the end to look down the street at my little town sparkling in the snowy winter streetlights. I asked myself, “Am I out right now because I want a drink, or because I want information?” Somehow, a lightbulb went off. I realized… I *was* out in search of information. I don’t know specifically what said information was, but I felt it was coming to me. It did not come in the form I expected, but it definitely came to me. Hard to explain in words. It’s more like a spiritual knowing. You have to feel it to understand it.

So the information arrived, and I was very interested in the fact that I felt absolutely nothing about it. Essentially, someone finally had the decency to explain to me what was going on with the Cleo’s thing. Long story short: misogyny. Big whoop. It was so hard to care. I could tell this person was really hoping to elicit a strong reaction out of me so they could run back to their clique and laugh at me for being emotional, but that didn’t happen. I was just like, “Wow. You know what I actually love about this situation? It proves to me that I did my job as a writer. I went out into this world in which I do not belong. I removed my judgments. I opened my mind. I talked to everyone I met. I got to know them. I tried to understand their worldview. I put up with a lot of negativity, hostility, and judgment in return. All to discover… wow, there really is a reason why some people are called Deplorables. Truly. Some of them really are just… Deplorable. But you know what? I didn’t need social media memes to tell me that. I got my ass off Facebook and went to seek out that information in the real world. I came to that conclusion all on my own. And you know how I came to that conclusion? Because this person is standing in front of me right now trying to rile me up and get me emotional so they can bully me, in spite of the fact that they know my dad just died and I’m going through a difficult time. That is Deplorable. Now I know what that is. Now I understand what that looks like. And I figured it out all by myself. Go me!”

IRL, I was pretty much like, “Okay, whatever. I don’t really care. I’ve honestly NEVER liked Cleo’s. Ugh. Especially that stench that permeates everything. You have truly done me a favor by eliminating it from my rotation. Now I can watch basketball without worrying about being sexually harassed and assaulted. I win!” And they’re like, “What about Bloody Mary’s?” What ABOUT Bloody Mary’s? I have stated now many times that I have no interest in returning there ever again. They showed me how Deplorable they are, and I believe them. I use the line “Stories so controversial, I was banned for life!” as a marketing tool. And guess what? It works. And it’s still working. Someone was just on this site reading my book last night. You can’t win this battle with your small town drama tactics. You just can’t. It’s beyond you. It’s time for you to give it up now.

So, that was my information I received. I think it’s pretty hilarious that I didn’t even know this entire side show was happening behind my back because I was too busy dealing with all the real life shit that happened after my dad died! Good to know I’m finally becoming a real adult, I guess? I’m worrying more about important things than dumb townie drama? Go me? I honestly have no idea how I got so sucked into this strange little town anyway. I guess that’s why they call it The Vortex…

Anyway, I guess now that mystery has been solved and I can move past it. Makes me want to give up my unfortunate downtown habits even more now. But again… sometimes I really do go out in search of stories and/or information. The thing I need to be aware of is how I’m feeling when I go out. Is it a “drink a 4 double bourbons and pass out on the floor because I’m so depressed I want to die” kind of night, or is a “drink seltzers with 3% alcohol slowly over several hours while conversing with randoms” kind of night? If it is a sad night, is there a better alternative we can find than knocking myself out with brown liquor? What might those alternatives be?” Things of this nature, I guess.

I don’t know how I became this person. Not my favourite version of myself. Not the person I thought I’d be. But the more I work through my own feelings and put the puzzle pieces of my brain back together after trauma blew them apart, the more I see why that is. For a long time, it was my escape from my parents’ house. Now I don’t really need to escape my house, so it’s become an attempt to be social thing. But I don’t really like most of the people I encounter at the bars, so I need to do something different. For whatever reason, I’m still getting crazy anxiety whenever I try to work on campus. I think it’s because it reminds me too much of my dad and it upsets me to be there and not meet him for lunch. Fair! Why are these feelings so conflicting and complicated? Why do I love/hate my dad so much? It’s so weird and uncomfortable. Nobody warns you about this when your parent dies.

I did have one positive thing happen when I was out and about yesterday. Once again, I pitched some of my article ideas to one of the Youths and they wanted me to start my new blog YESTERDAY! You’d think after pitching this to random people for 2-3 years, I’d have collected enough positive feedback to just sit down and do it. Apparently it is not that easy. But yeah, they gave me some super positive feedback, right down to suggestions for the first 3 articles I should post. Now the pressure’s on. This is what I needed: a specific assignment with a deadline. Three articles by the end of the week. Perfect. You’re hired as my new Muse. Andrew could never. He’s too busy admiring himself in the mirror. We jumped this shark so long ago. It’s about time we got this train back on the tracks.

Speaking of Andrew, I was inspired by my Ugly Betty post about the Sexy Texy Guy (I just keep giving him new names) to search my TV rolodex for an example of what that relationship looks like to me. I was fascinated by the co-dependent dynamic of Betty and Daniel, but I don’t feel like it looks like that at all. So then I was wondering if I could think of a dynamic on TV that matched it. I was surprised when I came up with Liz Lemon and Jack Donaghy from 30 Rock. Yes! It’s the perfect metaphor! I’m just trying to run my little sideshow without incident, but my meddlesome boss from the top floor keeps coming downstairs to insert himself where he’s not wanted and interfere with my scripts and make outrageous demands for random product placements for microwave ovens. That’s literally what it is, but if there was lots of spicy stuff going on behind the scenes. Wow! Phew! What a relief to write that down. Like, now I understand it. Now it makes sense. Now I get what he is to me. Okay. I still have no idea how this happened, but here we are now. We are advancing and moving forward. We are making progress on this, somehow?

This is how I came to create my own cult. The Cult of TV Therapy. Learn to understand yourself, your mind, and your place in the world around you by constantly binge-watching TV. Come. Join us. We’ll use the money you give us to pay for the increasingly expensive streaming subscriptions and build a big theatre where we can all gather together to watch TV shows and talk about our feelings. Then we’ll all cry together and bond as one. No, of course, I didn’t use your money to buy myself 25 Rolls Royces. What are you talking about? Those were gifts from my wealthy followers. Their lives were so radically changed by my visions that they showered me with gifts. Who am I to say no to a classic, 25 times? Clearly this is my reward for being a god on Earth.

Don’t worry, I’m totally kidding. I would never start a cult. That seems like too much effort. I’d much rather relax on a beach while an attractive waiter with rippling pectorals and abs of steels serves me a pineapple-coconut cocktail and does a little dance for an extra tip. Maybe someday, lol. In the meantime, I’m going to watch more TV and chill out for Self-Care Sunday. And apparently just… pig out? The biggest recent change I’ve noticed since working out more is that I quit smoking cigarettes randomly (just didn’t bother to pick up a new pack) and since then my appetite has been crazy out-of-control. I ate a whole gigantic Kardashian-sized takeout salad in one sitting after my workout yesterday. I usually split that into three servings. Then I ate a cupcake. And a huge bowl of red beans and rice. And like, five packs of snacks. Where did this come from? Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely a good thing because I haven’t been healthy, but yeah, wow. I just don’t usually eat like this. Wild.

Oh my gosh, just writing that made me hungry. I need to go eat something now. Self-Care Sunday means not smoking to suppress your appetite so you stay very skinny and tiny for no apparent reason other than the weird superficial programming your crazy appearance-obsessed mother gave you. At least now if I gain 10lbs, she won’t be here to bodyshame me over my naturally curvy shape. Yeah, let’s try embracing that journey next. Then I can write that article too! Yay!

Off we go. Have a lovely day.

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