Back from the pool. I didn’t swim today, my shoulder hurts too much. I really fucked it. Tried a lap or two but just couldn’t. Ended up hanging onto the edge and just swinging my arm back and forth in the water to loosen it up. Yeesh. I guess I should be pleased on some level. I DID get more exercise than just sitting here on my ass all morning. Still. No big release from a good swim, either.
Well okay. I can grouse about shit today, no doubt. Seems there’s almost always something I can bee-yitch over. It’s not where I want my focus today.
Today’s words of wisdom: hope for the best, plan for the worst, and expect nothing. It’s the last bit I have problems with. I expect a lot. I expect the sun to rise, I expect to be able to get things done during my day, I expect to feel rested after sleeping. Those expectations, when not met, are what drive me crazy. So I’m trying to let them go. Just see what happens. Yeah, it’s another experiment. I do like to tinker with myself.
So far, I had and had to let go of my expectation to be able to swim today. Sort of sitting on the fence with this. Like I said, I got up and MOVED this morning. That’s one up from most mornings, so good for me. Okay, the shoulder is fucked. I kind of knew that. I can only sleep if I clamp it to my side and don’t let it slip one way or the other – rather uncomfortable, and it takes thought to keep it that way. Been laying off it for several days and the pain has lessened but it’s tight. Real tight. Very hard to get myself dressed. Shit, it’s hard to pull my pants up after I pee. That’s how bad it is. But I got it loose in the water. Maybe I didn’t burn 1000 calories, but I can move my arm without pain right now and that’s a step in the right direction. Good. I got something I didn’t think I’d get. My pain has lessened. Certainly if I’d held to my expectation to swim and pushed it, I’d be screaming about it right now.
There’s something positive. Hang onto that.
…Trying to pin down what I expect of myself today. A lot, and nothing. There’s a lot I’d like to tackle: dishes, laundry, cleaning, writing, studio work. There’s nothing I HAVE to tackle. That’s usually the way it is in my life; lots to do but none of it is do-or-die. It’s not as nice as it sounds. A lot of times I feel like nothing I do is worthwhile. Everything I work at is future orientated. I may or may not sell the story I pounded out. I may nor may not get sales from that song I’m working on. The only concrete, real work I feel like I do IS the housework. I can do the dishes or clean up the front room and SEE it – there it is, look at what I did, doesn’t it look nice? Doesn’t feel that way when you spend your time creating stuff that doesn’t have enough marketing money behind it to sell well.
And there’s the expectation. To make money, to sell what I do. That’s a nefarious thought. It’s difficult enough to pour hundreds of hours into something. To then feel like you’ve got to get some monetary reward for it…and in today’s market…No. Stop it right there, Beeps. Sorry, people, I gotta go into internal dialogue for a minute.
Are you telling me you’re only writing stories and making music to sell?
No, of course not. That shit would come out of me no matter what.
Then why do you expect money for it?
Well, the bills have to get paid somehow.
Yeah, but does the money have to come from your art?
No, obviously not, you moron. It hasn’t come from my art so fucking far.
Then why are you pressuring yourself?
Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I don’t start to make money somehow I’ll never be welcome anywhere, in any country. I have to show I won’t be a burden on anyone.
But you already are a burden, aren’t you? You can’t take care of yourself. Your physical problems alone ensure that. Why are you adding the extra stress?
Because I want to stand on my own two feet. I want to say I can pay my own bills and take care of myself. I don’t want to ask for help and be at the hands of the ‘just’ and ‘merciful’.
You want to be in control of your own destiny.
Hm. Control. Sounds like a mom thing, and I’m leery of mom things. Again, it’s a form of expectation. I expect to be able to take care of myself, and I obviously can’t. I haven’t done it so far.
Maybe some people are only here to be a burden. Maybe we crazies are around to test the rest, to bear witness to their treatment of the most vulnerable. I don’t like that thought at all. I don’t like being a sacrificial lamb. It hurts. All the time. Every slash, every cut hurts. And yet…and yet it makes that kind of sick logical sense to me that I’ve seen the Universe exhibit over and over again.
Okay. Can I let go of my expectation to take care of myself? That’s the challenge I’ll look at today. I’m not in control. It’s a chaotic system; control is a delusion. I can only be, and breathe. Be, and breathe….