For example, I’ve spent hours this week redesigning my weekly newsletter (that nobody really reads, because I can see if you opened it, clicked on any of the links, and so on…yes, I am watching you). Why did I do this?
I guess I’m hoping if I did it better, I’d get a better result. Yes, I suppose that’s what I’m hoping. It seems an infernal-waste-of-time kind of hope, but there it is. I’m trying to communicate. I have things to say, and I fervently desire to be heard. I’m still trying to find my audience, and that is not yet, apparently, any of the folks I currently know.
So…yeah. Not much in the way of blog posts or podcasts this week, simply due to the fact that I spent so much time on this one little thing that most likely will net me fuck-all.
If I am to be the light in the darkness, how do I find the light that will shine for me? Am I to conjure it up from nothing?
This part of my “mission statement” confuses me the most. I am fully committed to my credo, and understand fully what it means, and why–but I am not a “sweetness and light” sort of person. i never have been and never will be. I’ve seen the darkness all my life; ever since I was a small child. From all those small days, wearing leg braces in bed, and waking in the middle of the night needing to pee but being unable to walk to the bathroom due to the braces, and whispering in the dark to try and get my brother to help me, only to not be able to rouse him, and struggling instead in trembling fear, on my hands and knees, crawling down the dark and scary hallway, seeing nothing but what I thought were ghosts and demons all around me in the darkness.
Then, finally having done my business on the toilet, having to make the journey back to my bed in the same terrifying darkness, and being unable to fall asleep again due to the fear.
I wore those braces every night of my life from age 2 through 7. The reason I wore them was due to extreme femoral torsion, which made me so pigeon-toed I could hardly walk without constantly tripping over my own feet. Running was an awful mess. Even now, at the tender age of 54, my knees still look like they have taken a beating.
This blog constantly sounds like I’m bitter and unhappy. I’m always griping about one thing or another here. I do struggle with clinical depression and general anxiety disorder, and am taking medications for these, along with medications for my chronic pain conditions from several spinal injuries and an unexpected injury related to my cancer surgery that has me permanently disabled.
But! I’m alive! And I’m happy to be so. Even if it doesn’t always seem that way due to my constant complaining. (LOL, oh, I’m SO random, and like, I just…COMPLAIN, like, for NO reason! LOL OMG)
Okay, I will end this post right here and start a new post in which I will pivot and talk abut all the good things I’m planning and doing so you can see the actual positivity I’ve got going on right now.