Instalment XXVII – Wherein our little heroine selflessly stops asking for answers

Tales from the Tropics

Turns out I might be a one trick pony. The last instalment wasn’t hard. It only took maybe two hours to write which is actually pretty good. It’s just trying to sift through what I can turn into a narrative. Boring. This exercise in mindless talking has really improved my words per minute though. Thank you Internet!

Here’s my current agony. Decisions. After the nun book, I have adopted a new approach to treat every situation with respect. Then, maybe as if it was a sign from God (because I have not been Googling) I received an email about letting go of ‘ego’. Most of it was boring but there was one point I did like. The guy talked about how when he makes a business decision he asks himself ‘who is this going to help/who is this going to hurt’.

The nun book- yes yes leave me alone- also had a section on contemplative prayer. Could you relax with the witch-hunt. You realise mindful meditation is religious appropriation of Buddhism that’s been commercially repackaged for your consumption to cope with the soul leeching consumerism and narcissism of today’s modern world? Yeah I fucking said it. Hands off my religion. I’ve always been this pick and choose type of Catholic. Of course religion can be dangerous but there are also parts that are helpful ways to think of a situation because Lord knows when all your shit has fallen apart you got faith or you got valium. And I’m done with cold turkey withdrawls. Really there has to be a way to deal with the deep ennui that is living.

Let’s put it together now. I’ve been trying to practice contemplation. Sounds new age but whatever sinks your anxiety ship. I’m on board. So they suggest you go through the last twenty-four hours, hour by hour and look at what is relevant and let go of what is irrelevant. In my conscious rummaging I noticed that fuck I react with strong emotion to a lot of shit. And considering I am a person that comparatively has so little demand on my time right now, and I thought I was a lady of leisure before, I still manage to feel exhausted when I contemplate my previous day. Pro tip- don’t contemplate at night, shit will keep you awake. Oh. Is this why men don’t sleep? Rephrase is this why every bf I ever had never slept. Too many monsters keeping them awake at night. Nice conscience, is it guilty? Mirrors sure don’t cast a pretty reflection into your soul now, do they babe? This is probably why I have nightmares and no boyfriend. Whoops. ‘SJ, you got a smart mouth and no one will marry you’, ‘ex-bf, you’re a petty criminal that has a problem with authority, no one will employ you ’. No? We’re not playing the ‘things that are true but I don’t give a fuck about’ game? I win.

I’m not a hundred percent sold on contemplation. I naturally have a very short turn around time when it comes to knowing when I’ve fucked up. I don’t need to think about it before bed. Where it did help me was to see how emotionally reactive I am. I’m tying this incoherence together just wait. You know I always get there. So, now I know I’m extremely emotionally volatile (fuck off, I know you already knew this about me.) It has made me really hyper aware of the decisions I make based on fear. Fear, which is the opposite of my new found resolution to act with respect. And then I got trapped in the ‘who does my decision hurt/help’? Debacle. Fuck being a grown up is hard.

It’s really annoying when people hint around shit but alas my journalistic integrity means that I can’t talk about the life decisions I’m making without slaughtering the privacy of the innocent and not so innocent. Just know I’m being gracious and it is killing me. Send Princess Di SOS. I’m being really patient and letting this situation play out because I can’t answer the question ‘who is this going to help/hurt?’ without the answer being it’s going to help me and hurt you. If only we were all so self-sacrificing. Road to sainthood, let me just pull out my bible sinners. I can’t keep asking questions that fear and emotion demand an answer to, at other people’s expense. Where does honesty and directness fit in this puzzle because it sure feels like I’m trapped on a shitty faulty Metro train waiting to feel forward momentum, waiting to get to a destination. Patience little heroine. You’re still fucking learning it. And when it blows up in my face, we can all laugh about it on the fucking Internet like the petty savage little native that I am.

xx SJ

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