It has been way more that a fucking minute; it's been fucking HOURS.
Not since your sunny charm has appeared in my inbox, no. Never going to get down on a person for not making an appearance timely (whatever that is, when on the Internet) but this whole fucking ADULTHOOD thing has been grinding me down for . . . well, if "adulthood" begins when one attains one's majority and can drink, let's just say I'm a double adult plus an angsty whiny teen. That's how many years it's been.
And your post today? Holy bananas, sistah, you just put your finger right on the oozy sore spot. (Ewww. But thanks.) Thanks for saying that sometimes it is HARD AS FUCK to pull up your big girl panties and do what needs doing. That each and every one of us is out here, handling the shit just as well as we can, on our own.
I had no idea how sick and tired I was of the Suzie Sunshines ("The pandemic is a great time to exercise your mindfulness skills!! Let's be grateful for having toilet paper again! Let's bake banana bread using flour and bananas that we grew ourselves!!!") who never seem to need/want rescuing until I read your post and realized, yeah. Amber has a point. That while there is no shame in asking for help, ultimately we have to yank on our own bootstraps until we get up to where we want to be.
I keep seeing articles and posts where the author floats serenely heavenward, hands firmly locked on the footgear, making it look so, so, easy and wonder why the FUCK do I have to do calming exercises just to fucking function? Just to get out of bed and brush my hair?
Hint for you, Spike -- this is the part that no one talks about. Except Amber. Thank you for this.
Reminds me of the old Al-Anon adage, ODAT (one day at a time). I've broken that down to a second at a time. I guess that's where the exclamation, "Fuck-me!" Comes from ... We just keep doing it to ourselves.
Truly, it's a tough ass world out there, and it's just us fighting for ourselves. One task at a time we will prevail. Besides, what the hell, can you get fired from life? What doesn't get done simply doesn't. We know what's important ... Family, kids, and the means to support them. Wine, water, wine ... Pace thyself! You Are Not Alone.
Been there, lived that, continue to on the daily. And I applaud you for saying it out loud, since *everyone* (except for the Lucky Sperm Club and The Billionaires) has to run that daily algo on "do this, or nah?" and it's EXHAUSTING.
But also energizing and empowering once you realize you do have a tiny smidge of control, in the "sorry, no, not now" response that people, particularly women, are programmed *not* to do "because helping" or "nice girl" syndrome. Which that "nice helper girl" shit can actually kill you, so let's not.
Every time I get the email header that you've written something new, I am excited like a kid a Christmas so those weeks when I don't I am like "Awwww. I miss Dear Fuckers!" But following you on other platforms I can see and sense you are putting in hella work so I understand. We all have that challenge of prioritization, execution, exhaustion, adjustment with an occasional dosage of fuckitol...500MG for me. But I am so thankful for your voice, your words, truth, and encouragement, Amber. Whether those blinds come up or those Amazon boxes get attention matters to a point. It will get done. You will get it done. Now where's the wine? Be well, my friend.
It has been way more that a fucking minute; it's been fucking HOURS.
Not since your sunny charm has appeared in my inbox, no. Never going to get down on a person for not making an appearance timely (whatever that is, when on the Internet) but this whole fucking ADULTHOOD thing has been grinding me down for . . . well, if "adulthood" begins when one attains one's majority and can drink, let's just say I'm a double adult plus an angsty whiny teen. That's how many years it's been.
And your post today? Holy bananas, sistah, you just put your finger right on the oozy sore spot. (Ewww. But thanks.) Thanks for saying that sometimes it is HARD AS FUCK to pull up your big girl panties and do what needs doing. That each and every one of us is out here, handling the shit just as well as we can, on our own.
I had no idea how sick and tired I was of the Suzie Sunshines ("The pandemic is a great time to exercise your mindfulness skills!! Let's be grateful for having toilet paper again! Let's bake banana bread using flour and bananas that we grew ourselves!!!") who never seem to need/want rescuing until I read your post and realized, yeah. Amber has a point. That while there is no shame in asking for help, ultimately we have to yank on our own bootstraps until we get up to where we want to be.
I keep seeing articles and posts where the author floats serenely heavenward, hands firmly locked on the footgear, making it look so, so, easy and wonder why the FUCK do I have to do calming exercises just to fucking function? Just to get out of bed and brush my hair?
Hint for you, Spike -- this is the part that no one talks about. Except Amber. Thank you for this.
Reminds me of the old Al-Anon adage, ODAT (one day at a time). I've broken that down to a second at a time. I guess that's where the exclamation, "Fuck-me!" Comes from ... We just keep doing it to ourselves.
Truly, it's a tough ass world out there, and it's just us fighting for ourselves. One task at a time we will prevail. Besides, what the hell, can you get fired from life? What doesn't get done simply doesn't. We know what's important ... Family, kids, and the means to support them. Wine, water, wine ... Pace thyself! You Are Not Alone.
Sometimes it's OK to drink the box
Hellz yes. On all of it.
Been there, lived that, continue to on the daily. And I applaud you for saying it out loud, since *everyone* (except for the Lucky Sperm Club and The Billionaires) has to run that daily algo on "do this, or nah?" and it's EXHAUSTING.
But also energizing and empowering once you realize you do have a tiny smidge of control, in the "sorry, no, not now" response that people, particularly women, are programmed *not* to do "because helping" or "nice girl" syndrome. Which that "nice helper girl" shit can actually kill you, so let's not.
Highest of fives, my dear.
Every time I get the email header that you've written something new, I am excited like a kid a Christmas so those weeks when I don't I am like "Awwww. I miss Dear Fuckers!" But following you on other platforms I can see and sense you are putting in hella work so I understand. We all have that challenge of prioritization, execution, exhaustion, adjustment with an occasional dosage of fuckitol...500MG for me. But I am so thankful for your voice, your words, truth, and encouragement, Amber. Whether those blinds come up or those Amazon boxes get attention matters to a point. It will get done. You will get it done. Now where's the wine? Be well, my friend.
who is your therapist? I'm in Chicago and I'm falling-the-fuck apart... I wasn't keen on past therapists I've tried
Glad to read you whenever it works out. I saved this to read because I wanted dessert at the end of the day.