I've decided, during the course of the decade's turnover last night and after an arduous argument with my husband about why I am so mopey these days, to not give a shit about a lot of things anymore. Like, whether or not I am finding my true calling. (Who cares, just do your job, Daffy.) Like, whether I ever will succeed in getting any kind of recognition from my dad of the fact that I am an actual person, with feelings, not just a projection of his petty paranoia. (Recent developments just demonstrated once again what a sad excuse for a parent he is.) Like, whether I am certifiably ***happy***.
The last few months were wrought with anxieties and frustrations, to which I reacted the usual way: very emotionally. It became oppressive and plainly exhausting to work on not being depressed. Being sad, frustrated, thwarted meant something wasn't right in happyland. Ergo, my plan for 2010 is to reprogram my thinking. What is this self-imposed happiness tyranny all about anyway? Why can't I just be sad if stuff that happens makes me so?
So my New Year's resolution is TO BE SAD. It's my fucking party, so I'll cry if I want to, thank you very much.
