I Have Nothing to Say

What a morning.

And it started last evening, with emails and texts arriving from  various corners of the globe, informing me that life was not perfect.

They didn’t say it in so many words. They didn’t say, “Dear Marilyn, We just wanted to let you know that life is not perfect.”

No, it was that other way the Universe has of telling you things.  Business stuff, impinging on my rights to various things. And I hate that.

I’m willing to look the other way over certain things, or let certain things slide, but please, please, please don’t make me have to be a Bitch. I so hate that.

And my first thought upon retiring last night was: I’m just going to assume I’ve misinterpreted things and I’m going to send off calm & succinct emails & texts and I’m going to go to sleep and then wake-up to a world that is back on track and not backing me into a corner in any way…

And in the morning, of course, it was clear that I hadn’t misinterpreted anything at all. And that people are attempting to walk on me in tiny little baby steps that will eventually grow… And that just being friendly is probably not gonna work.

And it’s coming from all sides — areas in my life that are unrelated to other areas, you know? I think that sometimes the Universe just decides to throw a bunch of stuff in your lap just to see how you’re going to choose to react to it. Just to see; just to watch.

I’m up to my eyeballs in projects I need to focus on. I need to approach them from a really peaceful place, with 100% of my attention.

And I really just hate being a Bitch.

And this isn’t about the “f” word.  It’s about this other vocabulary I have, absolutely profanity-free, that just floors people, you know? It devastates people. Words can be really damaging, and can change how people see me for the rest of their lives. (Meaning: Someone you can’t walk on but also someone who is nowhere near as “nice” as she looks.)

But way down there at the bottom line of who I am, my words are the only real weapon I have for protecting myself: This is the reason why what you’re trying to do to me sucks. And then words can come out that would absolutely astound you with their clarity and their precision and their quiet intensity.

And I really hate when those words start getting riled up inside. I hate when I can feel them forming into sentences at the far edges of my mind.  I do everything I can to try to soothe those little words. Keep them free of sentence structures that could be deadly.

Mostly I just wanna be nice.  I really, really wanna be nice. I want to be left alone as much as possible and I wanna be nice. I do everything in my power to at least appear nice. Even though I am painfully aware that I have a vocabulary that hovers like a protective field in front of me; that’s primed to spring like an invisible steel leg hold trap.

We’re just gonna see how that goes, I guess. I’m trying to be negotiable, but most of my “niceness” quota got used up last night. So far it’s been a super intense morning.

I leave you with Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, 1987.

Yes. Quit Jammin’ Me.

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