I can’t remember exact dates (sorry, every significant other EVER) except my birthday, Christmas, my wife’s birthday most of the time, Valentine’s day, and our anniversary (awww!). I remember some dates, some of the time. But don’t ask me for a cousin’s birthday, or an in-law’s birthday, or worse, one of their kids’ birthdays. How rambly of me. All that to build the foundation for this:
There was a recent time, maybe just a few years ago but I can’t remember, when it was a popular fad for success speakers to tell their cultish followers to “say yes” to whatever life offered, whether it was a success or a disaster or an invitation to go somewhere, or a chance to experience something new or “accidentally” die while parachuting or diving with sharks in Australia. If you’re going to say “yes” to something, each of you should send me $20 …and that would result in me receiving about $…. zero dollars, because I LOVE my readers but I know both of them are broke. You know who you are, do NOT send me $20. If you have extra, spend it on something nice for you because I love you and you should love you too, you beautiful darlin’ you.
And indeed we should say yes to whatever the universe brings, because everyone knows the universe is a benevolent place that wants to give good things to everyone. Right? Oprah says it, along with several success preachers and motivational speakers. Which means that the universe is friends with success preachers, motivational speakers, and Oprah, and basically, possible early life trauma notwithstanding, these people either ask for, or tell, “the universe” what they want, and they get it, or they twist the universe’s nipple and MAKE it give them what they want, and then they teach people that they should be able to do the same.
Have you READ Newton’s laws?
Have you seen anyone ever die, or worse, commit suicide? The universe is NOT my friend, the universe sucks ass, and a lucky few get what they want. What’s worse, the universe doesn’t owe me shit, so I can’t just go expecting that it’ll pay me if I’m good enough.
If there is such a thing as karma, it doesn’t seem to matter how good some people are, or try to be. We only see the outside of a person, so we can’t judge. And if we’re honest with ourselves, we know who we really are on the inside. Which is why I know the universe doesn’t owe me shit. I wish it did. And for my second wish, I wish it’d start paying up.
I DO believe in spiritual forces. I believe in God. Laugh all you want; I don’t care. If there wasn’t a God with a plan to ultimately save me, I’d be fucked worse than I am, and I’d just end it, which I don’t think is a good choice. If you follow the link, I was thinking of verse 19. But because I believe, I’m staying through the movie until the end of the credits. Who knows? Maybe there’s a blooper reel and maybe it’s actually funny. I doubt it though. Well, maybe it’ll be funny at the end after the story starts making more sense.
The “Say Yes” movement has been around for at least long enough for a few books and motivational speakers to start sucking money from people who are trend-followers, and there are many, or people who are desperate, and there are a few, or people who forward those emails around that say if you forward it you’ll receive good and if you don’t your groin will be infested with scorpions.
I’d be a success preacher but I think you’re supposed to actually believe what you’re preaching, not just in it for the money. Or the power. Or the sex. Oh wait, that only happens to rock stars and politicians. Or does it? Fuck me, maybe I should be a rock star, or a success preacher. Maybe not, I mean, Freddy Mercury died of rock stardom, along with a host of others. Anyway, anyone who tells you to affirm yourself is fine, but anyone who tells you all you have to do to have [fill-in-the-blank] is either just take it, or ask the universe to deliver it to your door is peddling swamp water as the fountain of youth, snake oil as demon repellent, crystals and magnets and fucking rocks on strings as charms to attract good things, and nuggets of bull shit they say are actually made of gold. “But wait, there’s more! You also get this prayer cloth imbued with my personal forehead and/or neck sweat, that I personally prayed over so you’d get a blessing from sending me your money.”
If you had a healthy ovum, a genetic splicing machine, and a laboratory, you could quite possibly clone your own televangelist with one of those prayer cloths. (See also “The Big Bang Theory, The Gift Hypothesis.“) Or, Bitch Televangelist. (See also “Family Guy, Quagmire’s Baby.“) See, I used to like tv and stuff, but depression sucks all that up. I used to like some other things too, at least a few times, but if certain other people don’t like the same stuff, it’s not going to happen again any time soon and THAT is further depressing.
We Christ followers are supposed to be a special lot, and we’re supposed to celebrate when shit happens. (See James 1, or I Thessalonians 5:18, or Philippians 4:4. Woo hoo, more shit! Halle-fucking-lujah.
This weekend, I had the good fortune to be alone except for the dog. While I revelled in the solitude most of the time, I felt a lack of motivation except to do the things that absolutely needed to be done, and I did them when I damned well felt like it. I should have asked the universe for controlled mania (oxymoronic of me, no?) so I could get MORE shit done. I did small things, when big things could have been done. Or should have been done. I did not do sufficient self-care. And I really should have. But I’ve been depressed and don’t have motivation for that. I SHOULD do it for myself, but I only want to do it for Mrs. M., and she doesn’t care and isn’t interested right now. Mrs M. can go from “I’m so busy!” to “Zzzzzzz!!” in three fucking seconds. Yep, I’ve got me a fast woman. Hooray!)
I did do a small list of things that you might think is a lot, but when you look at life through Mrs M’s eyes, or her trained minions, not so much. Rather than taking over the world like I COULD have, I only walked the dog on the long hike three times, fed the dog and his best friend, washed all the dishes and put them away, washed, dried, folded and put away a few loads of laundry, emptied the lint trap so the house wouldn’t burn down, took out the trash and recycling, mowed the grass, spread weed & feed on it for the dandelions and damnedythistles to die, fucking weeds, DIE, emptied the vacuum cleaner in preparation for really cleaning it, took the dog to his obedience class so he could learn not to be an ass hole (are there human obedience classes? No, DON’T tell me, and STOP LAUGHING! I’M not the one who needs to sign up. Or am I? Shut UP!!) …and so on. I also picked up my son after his scout camping trip and helped him wash and put away his tent, and wash his laundry, after which I dried and folded it and made him put it away.
I don’t know, it seemed like a lot to me. I also did some other tidying up and putting away of miscellaneous things around the house, in the yard, and in the garage. I may have wiped off a few counters and tables, I think I did but don’t make me swear to it because someone would bitch they found a wet place on the counter over here, or a place that’s still sticky from something they fucking spilled before they left. It wasn’t immaculate, or anywhere close. I didn’t do any writing, I had a beer and then the next day a small amount of whiskey, but not enough to get intoxicated, and I also wasted a few hours on Netflix Criminal Minds. (Horatio: ) “Looks like this one… tried to put too much weekend ::sunglasses on:: …into his weekend! YYEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
But there comes a point, (I’m GETTING to the point already, shut UP!) and I’ve reached it, where one has said “yes” to the universe one too many times, and needs to say “when.” Not this “when,”
but the opposite “when,” for when saying “when” means “stop!” Funniest “Say When” cartoon ever: https://nightowlet.wordpress.com/2014/03/13/its-been-one-of-those-days/
When… Mrs M and my daughter and son were all finally home we all gathered around the rotisserie style chicken I went to the store to find. Everyone started talking about their weekends, but quickly devolved back into nit picking shit and somehow it was my fault whatever it was wasn’t done right, from the dishes I washed in the fucking dishwasher that weren’t clean enough, to the state of the laundry that wasn’t brought near the washing machine so I’d have a clue it needed washing, to why this or that was done the way it was done or why this or that wasn’t done. Thank GOD I had more wine. I poured a glass Sunday night. “The dishes I washed aren’t clean? The house isn’t clean enough? You can’t find your gym uniform? You’re frustrated because I’m less communicative than you want? You need me to [fill in the blank task] tonight, tomorrow, before 5AM? ::I pour more wine, like a whispered, liquid “fuck you.”:: Do go on and tell me about your weekend adventures. And tell me more about how little you appreciate what I do.
In the spirit of more and more shit adding itself to my life, whether I want it or not, whether I celebrate it or not, whether I want to say “yes” or say “when,” one of my dear family members backed up the downstairs toilet and one of my dear family members thinks unsightly things should be put away so they can never be found by anyone, heaven forbid house guests, GOD forbid friends, and heaven help family members, so they put away the fucking plunger so well I couldn’t find it to fix the toilet. Hooray! This same person likes to put the vacuum cleaner (full of dirt and hair I vacuumed up) out in the garage so it’s as far away from practical use as possible. Then mum called and wanted me to find something she had given us, worried that it was lost or thrown out. Something nice, to be sure, but I didn’t have the first clue where to look since when I put things where I want them, they get moved. See also, the vacuum cleaner and the plunger. If you see them, can you please tell me where the fuck they are? And, is there more wine?
It has been one of those days. One of those weekends. One of those weeks. One of those months. I’m fucking sick of it and tired of everyone and everything, and people wonder why I want to be a damned hermit. For fucks’ sake (from one person, quite literally), I want to be celebrated and enjoyed and praised and encouraged by people when I do something nice for them, not criticized, pushed away, yelled at, discouraged, and watch as more demands are placed on my ebbing energy.
Maybe it’s just my depression talking, but I am more and more convinced the universe has nipples. Why else would almost everyone I know SUCK?! I wish people would figure out how to latch on correctly, instead of latching on to MY LIFE. And if a certain significant other HAS to suck, can I tell her where and how to latch on?
Speaking of things that suck, now I need to go find the plunger and the vacuum cleaner so I can deal with shit and show more dirt where to go. Before someone tells me how and when “it needs to be done,” (the “right” way, now, by me) rather than just fucking doing it themself. Seriously, I am motivated more by seeing something that needs to be done and NOT being told to, and how to, do it. Being told how to do it, or being told to do it, is the opposite of motivational. It sucks my energy and unction down until my soul is empty and I want to disappear.
I’ve seen a few things that need to be done, and I’m going to try to accomplish one or two before someone tries to tell me to do something else, or tell me how I should do, or should have already done, what I’m doing, or how I suck because I didn’t do whatever it was in the order they “needed” it done in.
Good luck with your side of the Universe Vacuum; I’ve heard it sucks all around, unless you twist its’ nipple and it likes it well enough to give you what you need or want. I guess someday we’ll all be in the bag. If the critiques and helpful suck-gestions start again tonight, I think I’ll look for more wine. I may be half-in-the-bag after that, but maybe I won’t really care.
Here’s hoping we can all accomplish good things, for ourselves and for others, before the universe sucks everything away. And here’s hoping, if the universe does have nipples, that we can all latch on and reverse the trend. After all, don’t we all live in the Milky Way galaxy?