Don’t Get Mad. Get Real

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I don’t like it when my life gets out of balance.  It’s kinda like standing on a big ball—as long as I stay in the middle and keep the weight evenly balanced, everything’s fine.  But the moment I start leaning heavily in one direction, I end up landing with a splat.  I’m also not worth living with.

I’m usually pretty good at staying up on top of that ball, but last week I ended up with a bloody nose and two black eyes—metaphorically speaking.

There are certain people and activities I must fit into my schedule in order to have a healthy, happy and secure life.  These are:

Gene

Kids, grandkids and parents

Dogs

Friends

Nature

Spinning and Knitting

Reading

Writing

Storytelling

All of these feed my soul and get me out of bed every morning.  The latter two also provide the money to feed my body.  Asking me to give up any of these would be fightin’ words.  And I proved it last week.

One of my mottos is:  Don’t get mad at anyone for screwing up something I could easily screw up myself.  I blew it big time when the ball I’m always trying to balance on flew right out from underneath me and I crashed painfully out of control.

Earlier in the month, everything was going great; I was even ahead of schedule on my article assignment and looked forward to spending those extra days cleaning out my office and catching up on paperwork.  Then suddenly my article assignment was put on hold and I was asked to write on another topic instead.  I’ll spare the details, and go right to the end.  Turns out that after a week of struggling with the second assignment, it was decided that this was not working out and I was reassigned to my original article.

By this time I had cancelled times planned with Gene, family and friends, sent Gene out alone to storytelling jobs, missed out on both my knitting and spinning groups, had read nothing for fun, and all my writing was little more than cranked-out alphabetic hash.  It was when my resentment over the perceived sacrifices boiled over that things went from bad to bloody.

The crazy schedule and the last minute assignment changes weren’t my fault—but they could have been.  But the real cause for my loss of balance was my fault—I broke my own rule by letting my annoyance shift to anger, much over something I could have easily done myself.   And yes, there were some issues that I feel comfortable declaring that I would not have done and that I was justified in feeling wronged.  But the only person my anger hurt was me—okay, and probably Gene too because I know he had to be really sick of listening to me rant about it.

Getting angry was just plain stupid.  I wasted even more of my precious time and energy ranting and fuming, fussing and pacing the floor.  Absolutely no one to blame for that but me.  Then there’s the question begging to be asked:  When in heaven’s name did I ever think that working in the freelance world would have any assurance of stability and consistency?!?

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