Wednesday, October 14, 2009

i daresay i'm having fun

My history is littered with times when I started something and then didn't see it through. Not finishing high school, for example: I dropped out in November of my senior year. I got my GED and started community college, only to drop out, then enroll and attend awhile, drop out again, sign up with different courses, only to come and go - again. And the countless jobs I've had! I'd get stressed out, afraid, bored, lazy. I'd walk away, just like that. I'd walk away, yes, but definitely not without a second thought.

I've beaten myself up a thousand times for my cowardice, for my refusal to face things that were not pleasing to me. I've always believed that I should be doing things that I wasn't doing - that everyone else was.

I should go to school, get a degree - in something, anything! I should get off my lazy ass, get a job, and be a "grown-up" - doesn't matter where or what, just pick! I should be more brave. I should be more attractive, more normal. I should be...blah, blah, blah.

Blah, blah, blah is what it all adds up to.
It's insulting and it's useless.
What's done is done.
It is what it is.


My trips to Florida this summer made clear for me two things: one, I really would like a change of scenery; I was on to something. And two, it would behoove me to have a stable source of income before I go dashing across the country on my own. Having that financial aide would make relying on a roommate much less necessary, I'm thinkin.'

Around that same time, my recently retired aunt was looking for a new source of income and she came across a medical transcription course and thought I might be interested also. I was wary to give it a try, because that, too, is something I'd attempted in the past - a few times. But I figured acquiring a skill I could count on was is in order, so I gave it a try, and that's what I've been doing the past few months.

It has been much more difficult than I imagined it would be. I've become pissed off at the medical profession for their ridiculous, tedious, language of one hundred-syllable words, many times. I've wanted to quit many times. But I haven't - and I decided I'm not going to. If for no other reason, than to give the finger to the voice in my head that says I can't commit to anything. If for no other reason, than to push past the habitually shoddy self I've practiced.

What's exciting to me, though, is that this time, I actually feel like I have a reason to keep it up. It's not like community college, where I had no idea what I wanted to do, but aimlessly chose courses just to check them off my vague, (undetermined) degree plan, anyway. When I found myself in a course having to write a paper of so many words on a subject I couldn't care less about, I felt no inspiration. And with no inspiration, that's when I always bolt.

I need a reason! I need a light at the end of the tunnel. When I write, for example, I usually have a sense of what I'm trying to say. Whether it be a poem, or a letter, or whatever, I usually have a sense of where I'm going, of what I'm trying to express. So, even if I get challenged trying to figure out how to word something, I'm still compelled to see it through. In other words, the process is fun for me. Having a reason to be awake, to rush forth, to keep going - this is Joy! And I stubbornly believe that Life was meant to feel good and that if we're spending our time doing something that makes us feel like crap, we should rethink how we're spending our precious time - because it is precious.

I dream of the beach.
The Independence.
The new times to be had.

Remembering these are what makes the process fun for me.
These are what I remember when I'm reading about Fallopian tubes or dysuria, and I'm beginning to fall asleep.

I'm not a ghost living in my grandmother's house.
Not entirely.

I'm happy and I have a reason to stay awake.

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