This is what giving up sounds like.
Warning: this is not a cheery post. May make you want to stab me. Be assured that I have not written this to solicit attention or encouragement of any kind. Just looking at the truth. The truth can suck. But you can only tell the truth to "fuck off" so long before it sits on your chest and won't get up.
March marked a year since we officially filed for bankruptcy. A year since I had pretty much had it on all fronts. This year between March and March kicked my ass to hell. Today I'm feeling all the bitterness of a person who has worked hard to stay afloat for four solid years of sinking inexorably deeper and deeper into the bog that life can be. Is. In the now. Taxes not filed. Bills not being paid by Philip who is getting as bad as I was getting about dealing with the bills. I'm going to have to take over again. The reality of our life feels like slow suffocation.
I want to give up on everything. I want to let go and drift away. I'm tired of human relationships.
I'm tired of fighting my body, my friends, my family, my work, my garden, my animals, and always coming up a little short of what everyone needs from me.
I was just telling my coworker today that I don't understand why so many people who start blogs flail under the weight of keeping a blog, which to me seems like breathing. She said it depends on why you're blogging, what you're trying to achieve with it. I think she's right. This blog will never have wide appeal unless I become quite famous for some other reason and then people will be interested. I write it to get shit out of my head. I used to write in it every single day. And that was not difficult.
I really did/do want to have a blog that I could make a living on. I wrote that urban homesteading book proposal and when I was turned down I decided to write Stitch and Boots because I felt it needed to be written and no one else was doing it exactly the way I wanted...and I've worked really hard to make it a high quality information blog that one can turn to for guides and answers to being an urban homesteader. I wanted to do it to create something really useful but I also wanted to make it into a commercial success. It actually seemed possible when Soule Mama linked to my smock tutorial for a week- but since then it's been a lot of work and it really isn't going anywhere commercial.
I told you I was going to start a fashion-only blog. Part of why I want to do it is because there are so few really inspiring fashion blogs out there. Style blogs are often product-heavy and focus on shit I think is hideous. I thought "I was born to design and write. Fashion is a huge love of mine- this will be ideal! And I could totally make it successful!" But why should I believe that? I don't do commercially successful things.
The books...god damn that was an amazing breakthrough. But where do I have the time and energy to write fiction or even do my first rewrite on the first one (seriously violent and depressing story) only to shop it around until I die and not get published which is certainly what would happen. I can't even keep on top of my house cleaning.
I don't do successful things. My own parents didn't particularly have high hopes for me when I was growing up. (They will not have a memory of this, because they never do remember such things). In truth, I never was that promising, so what could I expect them to hope for?
You may think I'm feeling very sorry for myself today. I'm not really. I'm saying only what has been shown to be proven so far. I am 40 years old and the only thing I ever was a success at was being a full time housewife and urban homesteader. When I didn't have to earn a living and I stayed home, my house was actually sometimes clean. I did sewing projects like make curtains and aprons for myself and though I always had weeds in my garden it was gorgeous and the flowering plants and vegetables were more impressive than the weeds.
And I wasn't obese then.
What I don't understand is why I keep trying? Why do I keep trying to do what doesn't work? Why am I writing Stitch and Boots? Why am I thinking of starting a fashion blog? Why bother writing fiction? If the only reason for me to write a book is to amuse myself and give something to the world to be depressed about or to amuse ten people, why not wait until I'm old and can't work in the garden anymore? I may be a writer but that doesn't mean that I'll ever find a niche or success at doing it. Meanwhile, the striving is so exhausting. Always trying to think of how I can make it work. How I can find time to squeeze in a novel and then find time to send out query after query until I'm grey with defeat.
What is wrong with just saying: this is it. Stop striving. Stop looking for ways to make my mark. My mark is to live until I die. My mark is to make an excellent vegetarian pot pie. No one in the world needs to know about it for it to be a decent mark to make in life. Why must I always be looking for more when there is no more? Why do I keep looking for my golden project?
Many people in life are not slated to be anything but struggling to get by. The majority of people in the world are lucky to have food on the table and a job to go to. I have those two things. I still have my house. I don't know how long I'll really get to keep it. Once the loan balloons or whatever scary-ass thing it's slated to do in three years, the chances of us being able to afford to stay here are slim.
But why should that bother me? (Maybe I should stop planting fucking fruit trees though.)
I thought I'd gotten my hope back but I think the problem is that I'm hoping for too much and all the wrong things.
You know how when a bird hopes its whole life that it will eventually have opposable thumbs and somehow it never does, it just has wings because that's what birds have?
It's like I'm a human hoping to grow wings.
I think I should stop writing Stitch and Boots and not start a new blog and just write my random alienating shit in this one small little place that I love to visit. I think I should stop thinking about writing books or finding my place amongst the writers of the world. And when people ask me what I do I should simply say that I'm a headline editor for an ad network. It's a great job. Most days I love doing it. I think I should stop telling people I'm a writer as though it is inevitable that I will find my place amongst writers who I think of as my peers, but who will never actually know I exist.
I think I should concentrate on mundane things like figuring out how the hell we'll ever be able to pay the taxes we supposedly owe from last year and if that wasn't an error, we will undoubtedly owe much more this year. How are we going to deal with that?
No stars. No striving. Being 40 and finding out that there is no place for me where I thought I had a place sucks. I've been a person with such strong ambitions my whole life. Not having any might be a little bitter, but I'm tired of not succeeding at anything.
My life would probably be immeasurably improved if my only ambition was to get the fucking laundry done for once.
This is my life now and it's time I grow up and get used to scrabbling to hang on cause there's no end in sight.
I officially give up.
I want to give up on everything. I want to let go and drift away. I'm tired of human relationships.
I'm tired of fighting my body, my friends, my family, my work, my garden, my animals, and always coming up a little short of what everyone needs from me.
I was just telling my coworker today that I don't understand why so many people who start blogs flail under the weight of keeping a blog, which to me seems like breathing. She said it depends on why you're blogging, what you're trying to achieve with it. I think she's right. This blog will never have wide appeal unless I become quite famous for some other reason and then people will be interested. I write it to get shit out of my head. I used to write in it every single day. And that was not difficult.
I really did/do want to have a blog that I could make a living on. I wrote that urban homesteading book proposal and when I was turned down I decided to write Stitch and Boots because I felt it needed to be written and no one else was doing it exactly the way I wanted...and I've worked really hard to make it a high quality information blog that one can turn to for guides and answers to being an urban homesteader. I wanted to do it to create something really useful but I also wanted to make it into a commercial success. It actually seemed possible when Soule Mama linked to my smock tutorial for a week- but since then it's been a lot of work and it really isn't going anywhere commercial.
I told you I was going to start a fashion-only blog. Part of why I want to do it is because there are so few really inspiring fashion blogs out there. Style blogs are often product-heavy and focus on shit I think is hideous. I thought "I was born to design and write. Fashion is a huge love of mine- this will be ideal! And I could totally make it successful!" But why should I believe that? I don't do commercially successful things.
The books...god damn that was an amazing breakthrough. But where do I have the time and energy to write fiction or even do my first rewrite on the first one (seriously violent and depressing story) only to shop it around until I die and not get published which is certainly what would happen. I can't even keep on top of my house cleaning.
I don't do successful things. My own parents didn't particularly have high hopes for me when I was growing up. (They will not have a memory of this, because they never do remember such things). In truth, I never was that promising, so what could I expect them to hope for?
You may think I'm feeling very sorry for myself today. I'm not really. I'm saying only what has been shown to be proven so far. I am 40 years old and the only thing I ever was a success at was being a full time housewife and urban homesteader. When I didn't have to earn a living and I stayed home, my house was actually sometimes clean. I did sewing projects like make curtains and aprons for myself and though I always had weeds in my garden it was gorgeous and the flowering plants and vegetables were more impressive than the weeds.
And I wasn't obese then.
What I don't understand is why I keep trying? Why do I keep trying to do what doesn't work? Why am I writing Stitch and Boots? Why am I thinking of starting a fashion blog? Why bother writing fiction? If the only reason for me to write a book is to amuse myself and give something to the world to be depressed about or to amuse ten people, why not wait until I'm old and can't work in the garden anymore? I may be a writer but that doesn't mean that I'll ever find a niche or success at doing it. Meanwhile, the striving is so exhausting. Always trying to think of how I can make it work. How I can find time to squeeze in a novel and then find time to send out query after query until I'm grey with defeat.
What is wrong with just saying: this is it. Stop striving. Stop looking for ways to make my mark. My mark is to live until I die. My mark is to make an excellent vegetarian pot pie. No one in the world needs to know about it for it to be a decent mark to make in life. Why must I always be looking for more when there is no more? Why do I keep looking for my golden project?
Many people in life are not slated to be anything but struggling to get by. The majority of people in the world are lucky to have food on the table and a job to go to. I have those two things. I still have my house. I don't know how long I'll really get to keep it. Once the loan balloons or whatever scary-ass thing it's slated to do in three years, the chances of us being able to afford to stay here are slim.
But why should that bother me? (Maybe I should stop planting fucking fruit trees though.)
I thought I'd gotten my hope back but I think the problem is that I'm hoping for too much and all the wrong things.
You know how when a bird hopes its whole life that it will eventually have opposable thumbs and somehow it never does, it just has wings because that's what birds have?
It's like I'm a human hoping to grow wings.
I think I should stop writing Stitch and Boots and not start a new blog and just write my random alienating shit in this one small little place that I love to visit. I think I should stop thinking about writing books or finding my place amongst the writers of the world. And when people ask me what I do I should simply say that I'm a headline editor for an ad network. It's a great job. Most days I love doing it. I think I should stop telling people I'm a writer as though it is inevitable that I will find my place amongst writers who I think of as my peers, but who will never actually know I exist.
I think I should concentrate on mundane things like figuring out how the hell we'll ever be able to pay the taxes we supposedly owe from last year and if that wasn't an error, we will undoubtedly owe much more this year. How are we going to deal with that?
No stars. No striving. Being 40 and finding out that there is no place for me where I thought I had a place sucks. I've been a person with such strong ambitions my whole life. Not having any might be a little bitter, but I'm tired of not succeeding at anything.
My life would probably be immeasurably improved if my only ambition was to get the fucking laundry done for once.
This is my life now and it's time I grow up and get used to scrabbling to hang on cause there's no end in sight.
I officially give up.
Comments (5)
Sometimes our ambition and focus doesn't line up with what the Universe has in mind...from my experience. I believe in listening when the wind changes and maybe your wind is changing? If what you're seeking is only bringing you frustration and disappointment, then maybe it will be somewhat freeing to you if they were released.
...just my thoughts, and know they come with much love and fondness for you, my friend.
Posted by Kathy | March 30, 2010 12:10 PM
Posted on March 30, 2010 12:10
Life sucks for constantly rubbing our noses in it.
Money sucks for being important in America.
And many people will always just get by and some won't even do that.
I have been wanting to send you a lovely letter for the package you mailed me but getting the little boxes back made me really sad, Not that you sent them, but that there they were. We were the only two people that liked them.
I loved everything else in the package. And I hope tomorrow looks up for Stitch and Boots, but if it doesn't, well that will suck too but it won't be your fault.
Posted by bitterbetty | March 30, 2010 2:37 PM
Posted on March 30, 2010 14:37
My main concern on this post or question is if that bee has a stinger still in it? It's really bothering me.
The post seems normal to me like I wrote it (portions of it) and so really you are doing ok because you are aware of your emotions. I think that sounds sort of like b.s. but I can't eloquently say anything today.
You should do things that make you feel good and not do too much of the stuff that doesn't make you feel good. If you like writing blogs then you should keep doing it. It's a purpose and it's a responsibility because it's part of what you are on the earth to do. If you don't feel good about doing it then don't do it (even if your readers would miss you). They are your blogs and you can do whatever you want to do, which is kind of cool really if you think about it. Cheers, amy
Posted by amy | March 30, 2010 2:41 PM
Posted on March 30, 2010 14:41
Thank you Kathy. I don't find writing for Stitch or DPA to be frustrating particularly, but if Stitch isn't going to produce any income then I have to ask myself if I have the time to invest in it just for my own amusement. So much of my life is just always falling apart around me and I already work about 30 hours a week and managing my people takes up the rest of my time and does anyone really need Stitch? I read blogs for a living and there are plenty of other blogs out there generating a hell of a lot more traffic and covering the same stuff I am. Why bother? Who needs another recipe for roasted vegetables?
Bethany! I'm so glad you got the package. I think I know just how you feel getting those boxes back, I sent them because I thought you might like to be able to sell them on Etsy or something. I hadn't really thought, at the time, how bittersweet it might be to see them again. I still have enough of my store stock left in my garage and it seems to admonish me every time I go in there. I've slowly been giving and donating it away.
Amy- yes, it still has its stinger. I escorted this one outside. Then two more got in and I killed them and felt wretched. I have a nest of them outside my office window. I meant to have gotten rid of it this winter, but now they're active again. Drat. I do think they're rather beautiful.
I don't really have the luxury to do whatever makes me feel good because when I'm done working I have to do most everything else around this house because no one else does. Unless I nag them and then that feels like crap. Then I have little tiny windows of time in which to do things and it's easy to come to DPA and write whatever because it's just editorial, my opinions, and what I'm up to.
Posted by angelina | March 30, 2010 3:26 PM
Posted on March 30, 2010 15:26
I wish I had something useful to say at this time, but sadly I don't. xo
Posted by pam | March 30, 2010 4:56 PM
Posted on March 30, 2010 16:56