Mourning Desolatte, Redux

The sky is blue ... and so is my mood.

That's a bit of a dichotomy, isn't it? Blue is blue, and it's not. A blue sky is happy; a blue mood is not - but it is proof that everything is the same and different at the same time. 

I can be one of those disgustingly positive people - not can be, am. I believe we can work it out, everything will be all right, and it's a wonderful world.

This annoys the piss out of my daughter. When she is upset and wants to talk about it, my responses run along the lines of, "Don't worry; things will get better!" and "Let it go as best as you can, for your own sake." There'll be a lot of positive rah-rah and then, "I know you'll be fine."

When I'm done she looks up at me through her tears and says (with extreme aggravation), "Can't you just show a little sympathy once in a while?" She is at the basic comfort stop, and I'm moving ahead of her with go-go-go.

I suppose that's why her father started calling me a "fucking cheerleader”. It's true. I am.

There's a reason for that: I cannot function at that pity stop. If I'm aware that I'm there I have to get myself out as fast as possible - pom-poms aside, I can bury my head up my ass better than most people. Nobody knows that better than I do.

Knowing that, I have amassed a ton of little mind games and tricks I use on myself every time I'm down.

The worst thing is that 99.9% of my problems are first-world, those little dailies that only bother me and don't impact the big picture. 

With all those little tricks I have and knowing that most of my problems are rather small, it can be relatively easy to lift my own spirits.

Not today.

Recently someone I considered a friend showed me that I wasn’t considered one; I was ignored and then rather roundly and discourteously dismissed. The circumstances aren’t important; the bottom line is that when someone matters to you in any capacity and any degree, it’s always nice to feel you matter to them. I have never expected, wanted or needed to be Number 1 in anyone’s life, but it is nice to know if I matter at all.

- But let’s face it, being treated like Number 2 feels like shit.

So here I am, feeling hurt. I’ll even admit that my pride is a little wounded. I can also admit that this isn’t one of those big hurts – the ones that will and still matter five years later. But the bottom line is, I am hurt. Right now. And I don’t want to feel this way, and I don’t want any more time consumed by it.

It’s time for the fucking cheerleader to make an appearance with all her silly little distractions and mind games.

Since I’m working and my job is to drive people around, I was relying first on having a talkative passenger so that I’m not thinking about my own shit. I spent an hour in the car with my first passenger and he said nothing the entire ride.

Next!

I found out my second pickup wasn’t for a few hours, so I went to a spot that I knew I wanted to photograph to take some pictures. I did get a few good ones, but it was 8 degrees outside, so I spent all of 10 minutes there. I still had a lot of time to try to occupy myself.

Next!

I try not to spend money while I’m working (it kind of defeats the purpose of working, doesn’t it?), but chose to treat myself to a ‘coffee and’ at a cute little coffee shop near my next job and sit down and write. (Part of that decision came about because most cute little coffee shops have restrooms – not something readily available in my ‘office’. Three hours is a long time.)

Wow. The lighting in the bathroom is really good! I don’t look half as terrible as I feel! Quick! Take a selfie!

That’s still only a two-second distraction.

Next!

It’s time to pull out the big guns. And this coffee shop has them in the form of a banana chocolate muffin. Chocolate is the ‘big guns’.

The muffin was both ooey and gooey, and required both hands (and 4 napkins) to eat. When I was done, I pulled out my notebook and rummaged through my purse for my pen.

I left my favorite pen at home.

No, that won’t keep me from writing, but in my current mood it will delay my writing for a bit.

Actually, it delayed me longer than a bit. I wasn’t feeling it. I looked back into my bag to get out my wicked cool portable keyboard, then realized I didn’t pack it because I thought I wasn’t going to have time to write.

That’s two strikes.

Okay. I’ve heard it said that one good way to make yourself feel better is by putting your arm around someone else.

The guy at the table next to me was close enough.

I don’t think it made him feel better. He looked at me and growled, “Back off!”

Strike three.

I started writing – actually, typing. On my phone.

At least I was near a bathroom.

When the time was finally up (it’s quite exhausting to keep yourself distracted – I have no trouble occupying myself, but self-distraction is work) I went to pick up my next client. I was so excited to see that it was a woman I drove once before and we had the best time talking.

And, she had a friend with her this time. They talked to each other.

Now, I’m sitting in the car waiting for my next job, typing this on my phone – so uncomfortable all the way around – a head up the ass is usually uncomfortable.

And I’m desperate – I have reached past the quest stage and now am on a Mission From God. I will settle for trite platitudes. I happen to think my title is quite clever, and the first time I used it no one noticed or commented on it. Drowning my sorrows in coffee. Mourning Desolatte? Morning (early day)/mourning (grief)? The combination of the word ‘desolation’ and the coffee-related word ‘latte’?

Get it??