Let's say you've got some ish that you're dealing with. Kinda unflattering, kinda yucky, kinda wish you didn't feel the way you do, but... there it is. This little slice of you that is irrational and ugly and contrary to who you are.
(Except of course it's not at all contrary to who you are because hello! there it is.)
But anyway, you're wrestling with the ish, trying to make peace with it so you can send it on it's merry way, acknowledging the unflattering/yucky/irrational/ugly business that's camped out in your gut so it can have it's say before you summarily dismiss it. Whatever; you want it gone.
Oh, but a funny thing, life! Seems everywhere you turn the ish-trigger abounds. Left, right, up, down -- there it is! It might even be taunting you a little bit, late at night when you think you're safe from it but uh-oh! Looky-looky, there it is again. And so I'm left wondering:
Am I being ambushed by the ish because maybe I'm supposed to realize that it's not going to be so easy to let it go? Maybe I'm supposed to accept that some things just are what they are and I don't have to like it... but I do have to live with it. Graciously, even.
Or maybe, some things in life just suck. And lemme just say, that would really annoy me.
I've hit a rough patch in the writing-as-therapy exercise. Not sure what to do... plow on and see where it takes me, or set it aside and pick it up when some of the ish-dust settles. We shall see. But it seems I'm derailed every time I take to the page (as it were). Either the words aren't really me, or I'm interrupted, or I'm not actually addressing the big pink elephant in the middle of the room.
Blergh. This post sucks. Sorry, internets.
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