At one-fifteen this morning, I woke to the feeling that my feet were on fire – the tops were itching and burning horribly. I turned my bedside table light on, yanked the covers back, and looked for a source of the uncomfortable feeling. There was an extremely distinct tan line from my gardening sandals, and the areas that were tanned were red. I rubbed my eyes, noted that Chase had snuck into my bed again, and so I quietly got up to find some lotion to try and calm the burn. Beyond having spent the majority of the last few days in the sun, I couldn’t figure out the cause of the burning sensation. I don’t ever put sunscreen on my feet, I supposed. So maybe they were overly burned. I had also sprayed weed killer in several locations during the day, so I supposed perhaps I had managed to hit my feet, but that didn’t seem likely – I had showered since, and it would have burned at the time of contact, not after the fact. . . maybe. I applied the lotion and laid back down, only to be met with the burning sensation again.
I had only encountered this once before, when I had gone to Inkcarceration last year- and that had been on my legs. That wasn’t uncomfortable really, I just felt extremely warm under my blankets that evening. I had applied sunscreen and my legs weren’t burnt – just unaccustomed to so much sun. I had uncovered my legs and was able to fall asleep.
I turned my lamp on again and quietly got up and went into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the tub, and running the cold water full blast, I stuck my feet beneath the water and sighed with relief. I let the water numb my feet, applied lotion again, and went to lay back down. I kept my feet out from under the blanket, and was able to fall back asleep.
8am came, and time to get ready for my day. As I said yesterday, I have spent the majority of the last four days covered in dirt and sans makeup. It felt good to actually do something with myself – I showered, dressed, did my hair and makeup. I decided to be a little extra with my makeup just because I haven’t worn any in so long. Pleased with the result, I went to find sandals to complete my outfit.
Soon I realized multiple problems, though – first and foremost, regular flip flops irratated my feet. Apparently I did some damage to the tops, and it felt like tiny little knives were being inserted in between my toes when I attempted to put them on. Secondarily, being as short as I am I have to have my jeans altered, but I have them altered to accommodate boots or shoes – not flat ass sandals.
I hate shoes, but realize their necessity in colder months. You can’t find me with shoes or boots on from April through October normally, unless it’s for work. Grudgingly I applied more lotion to my poor feet, found a white pair of socks and put on shoes. I found that the necklace that Oliver had made me worked perfectly with my outfit, and as I looked at my reflection I found that today I was pretty fucking happy with my appearance. It’s funny what some black hair dye, a tan, and shedding a few pounds can do for ones self esteem.
I had just finished getting ready when I was made aware that I was ready over an hour early. I had misunderstood the time when we were all going to meet up and head out.
So I decided to at least start the quote post. I got out my book, looked at the quote, and nodded in approval. Indeed, Ms. Brontë.
“Life appears to me too short to be spent nursing animosity or registering wrongs.” – Charlotte Brontë
I’m not big on reading the classics – I struggled through Catch 22 and The Great Gatsby for my advanced reading class in high school, finding a loss in translation with the way the authors wrote – the old fashioned terms and such made my head hurt. I was able to glean the meaning of the books, but only at the very end. It was absolutely torture to get there, so while each story had a wonderful meaning, I just couldn’t fathom reading those types of books for fun. I in turn attempted to read with Matt last summer for his advanced reading class, and was met with the same dilemma. I’m not in high school anymore, I am in my mid-thirties and have a ton of life experience and I would venture to assume a larger vocabulary . . . and still, the language barrier made my head hurt as I tried to read Great Expectations. Some people swear these classic books are essential to read. I beg to differ.
I have read some of Charlotte’s work, though. I did run into the same issue with language however, so I can’t say I’ve read a ton.
But I love this quote.
I’m a grudge holder by nature. My philosophy is that if you hurt me once, shame on you. . . twice? That isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it. If I let you in and you abuse that privledge, that’s a you problem, because I won’t let you in again. I don’t trust easily, so the fact that I trusted you and you shit on me. . . Nope.
But I am also a happy, loving person. So these two traits often collide, leaving me full of indecision. On one hand, I’m hurt, annoyed at myself for trusting someone, and trying to heal. Someone else’s rejection and misuse of me spirals me back to my own insecurities that I have fought so hard to overcome. On the other hand, I know all too well what it is to hurt, and what it is to battle inner demons. So part of me gives the benefit of the doubt, too. Part of me wants to help the person who hurt me. I know horrible and inconsiderate actions come from a broken part inside of someone. I want to fix it. I know what it is to be broken, see. This is that empathetic side of me.
Years of self preservation have taught me a middle ground, fortunately enough for me.
Instead of holding that grudge and hating that person, and instead of subjecting myself to more hurt by trying to ‘fix’ them, I’m able to push aside my ill feelings and still keep them at a safe distance while remaining kind. It takes some time, and it takes a lot of pep talks to myself.
I have to recognize first that their ill treatment of me is nothing to do with me, and everything to do with them. I have to find a way to forgive them their transgression. I have to, in a sense, justify their behavior. I have to look beyond what they did, and put myself in their shoes.
That’s the hardest part, sometimes. Sometimes all I can see is the cowardice, the boldface disregard for my feelings. . . all I can see is the ugly parts. I have to stop being selfish myself to get this part achieved.
Like, Charlotte has a valid point, but it’s not a simple thing. It’s not as simple as snapping your fingers and just ignoring wrong doings. I can’t ignore shit. I can’t overlook shit. It’s just not in my nature. I’m extremely observant, and especially take note of people’s actions. Words mean absolutely nothing. A person’s actions however? That tells me all I need to know about who they are as a person.
And when someone speaks nicely and acts horribly. . . oh, what a disappointment. Then I have to sit there and look like a fool for a minute. And I have to be pissed off, and hurt, and give them what they gave me. I do, for a moment, lower myself to their level. I become rude and inconsiderate. I’m not a fighter, but I will absolutely tear someone apart with one spoken sentence. And I have no regard for their feelings at this point. I want to hurt them like they hurt me.
But at the end of the day, that isn’t who I am.
So after my wounded ego calms down, I can look more objectively and see where their actions came from. And I can feel sorry for them a little, because I have fought so many of those demons, and still do. I don’t wish demon fighting on anyone. It’s not in any way pleasant.
Insecurity and jealousy, cowardice and rudeness, indiscretions . . . all of it comes from an ugly place inside.
I can’t hold someone else’s wrong doings against them, knowing what I know, having felt what I’ve felt.
So I turn the other cheek. So I can tolerate them.
Now, don’t misunderstand – I can tolerate a whole lot of motherfuckers that have done me wrong. That does not mean that they have free access to come and go out of my life, that does not mean they have a ticket to hurt me again. I won’t go out of my way to allow them access to my life, to hang out with them – you won’t see me inviting them over to my house, that’s for goddamn sure – but to have to sit in the same room with them, find out they happen to be at the same concert or bar as me. . . that isn’t life ending anymore. It took me awhile to get to this point, it took a lot of soul searching to figure it out.
I won’t let them in again, but I won’t run from them and stoop to their level any more. Instead I will wish them well and hope that they can conquer those demons before the demons conquer them. It just means that I won’t act on impulse and tear them apart openly. It just means that I forgive them, to a point, so I can live with myself, and allow myself to find peace in the situation. Because to not find a way to understand someone who is insecure and dealing with their own bullshit is hypocritical. I deal with my own bullshit, and thank God I have an outlet and thank God I’m working through it. Not everyone is so lucky. And to not look past it would make me torture myself because of what they did. And really, what’s the point in that? I would be a liar if I said I didn’t have inward thoughts about their emotional and mental ugliness – I am, after all, human. I just don’t have to let them know exactly what I think of them openly anymore, is all.
I personally take this quote to mean that there’s no point in letting other people’s actions effect your life as a whole. Why avoid places you like to go because you’re afraid to run into someone? Why react negatively to them, when they already have enough of their own negativity inside? And a lot of times, these people who have done you wrong kind of get off on any attention, even if it’s negative attention. That’s like giving a kid who has misbehaved a fucking cookie. Don’t acknowledge it, don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they pissed you off and hurt you. . . just move on. Go about your life. They’ll figure their shit out eventually. . . or they won’t. That’s none of your concern anymore. You just worry about figuring your shit out and living your life. Because at the end of the day, you’re the bigger person. Ugliness attracts ugliness. Give the gift of detached understanding and you’ll be better for it. I promise.
I spent the day shopping with friends, and had a pleasant lunch, too. Guys, I ate in a restaurant. Like – inside. At a table. I went inside stores and touched pretty clothes. I walked through the mall. I was a little nervous, and I mean I guess I could potentially end up with the Rona for my afternoon of fun. . . But lord, I needed it. It was laid back and chill, just a casual afternoon of mostly bargain shopping. I came home and tried on my finds, and the clothes all fit. My feet are still a little unhappy, I really don’t know what in the actual fuck I did to them. Otherwise it was a good conclusion to my five day vacation.
I’ll water plants with my Chaser in a bit, and then I don’t know what. . . I did look at what I thought was a short story draft last night, and type it up and edit it. Turns out it was the prologue of my book. I thought about sharing it on here. My insecurities won’t let me yet. I know I can write this blog well, I’ve been doing it for four years now. But fiction? I haven’t touched fiction in years, and this was written 20 years ago almost. We’ll see.
I’m living my life, and I’m trying really hard to not be an asshole to the people who have been an asshole to me. Today’s quote kind of reiterated something that I already knew, and already practice. It’s not the easiest thing I’ve had to do in my life, but I am ultimately happier not holding grudges and just living my life the best way I know how – and that’s by being happy and grateful for the good, and dismissing the bad.
Happy Monday. Understand that everyone is fighting their own battles, and don’t let it become your own.
So, This is Real Life 