February 7, 2014 by Renee
I’m kidding. Well mostly. Maybe you do have brightness in your ass. I’ve never (and will never) look, so I don’t know. I just wanted to get your attention. Today I’m feeling like I want to make a pseudo-rant. It’s not angry, per say, but it’s irritated. Is that okay? I don’t really care. I’m going to do it anyway.
Those of you who know me only from my social media presence may believe I’m a happy and easy going person. Perhaps it seems I don’t get emotional about much and maybe you think everything’s just a big frigging joke to me. Okay, you’re partly right.
Maybe some of you see through the façade and realize I’m a total drama queen.
My mind goes constantly. I’m not saying I’m a genius. Jesus, I’m so far from that. I’m saying I’m constantly thinking. Sometimes it’s stupid shit, like what would happen if cockroaches became sentient beings? Or the earwigs. Yikes. Hate the earwigs. Creepy bastards. But sometimes it’s deep, thoughtful shit too like … I don’t have an example of that. Anyway, because of all of this thinking, my tendency to be irritated by minor, admittedly stupid things, and the voices in my head (that are not crazy voices) I experience so many emotions in any given hour; it’s really amazing I don’t spontaneously combust. I used to let it drive me batshit, but one day I decided it had to stop. Sure I pitch tantrums now and then. Ask the lovely people who claim to love me. They laugh at said tantrums regularly. But my episodes are short-lived and no one is usually harmed in the process.
I have to confess, the publishing industry turned me into an emotional nutcase pretty fast. God, everyone’s so dramatic and crazy around here. Why is she getting a movie deal? Her book is utter shit. Why are they even reading that smut? There shouldn’t even BE a porn genre. Self-publishing is for losers. Traditional/legacy publishing is for sheep. Agents are dicks. Agents are gods. Now repeat all of that over and over and over again. I got sucked right into the roller coaster and yes, I acted like a giant dick more than once.
It took a couple of years, but I finally found my happy place in this industry and in life. I just had to learn to laugh at myself (and sometimes at you). Sure, I get mad. Sure I rant about you guys and say nasty things about your ancestry, but I never do it online. And I usually don’t mean what I say about you.
Instead of getting all red-faced and scratchy, I try to find the funny in it all. Glass half-full and all that annoying shit you wish those tree-hugging, pot smoking freaks would just fuck off about. The thing is, life isn’t a permanent thing and there are so many people out there who are far worse off than we are. It seems like your world is going to shit and it’s never going to get better, but there are very few people who don’t feel the exact same thing at least once a week. Usually, we’re just being babies.
When my first daughter was born, I decided I couldn’t stand the sight of her father anymore. There were events and such that lead to this revelation, but we won’t get into that. Let’s just say I pitched a tantrum of sorts, and I called it quits. The next morning I was convinced I ruined my whole life and I’d never be happy again, because no one would ever love me and blah, blah, blah. Cue the tiny violin. Oh the months of tears and sleepless nights that followed should’ve won me some kind of award. I committed to my misery, man. It was epic and there was much snot.
But ending my marriage was the best decision I could’ve made for both of us. We moved on.
When I had my second daughter, Fate decided to show me what a truly whiny and pathetic bitch I was. Ken was born hearing impaired with holes in her heart and some possible neurological issues. She was sick most of the time; got meningitis and pretty much scared the fuck out of me on a daily basis for about two years.
And I re-learned how to start looking at the positives. First, hearing impaired is no big deal. Kids adapt and they are amazing at making the best out of what they’ve got. Holes in her heart closed, and she’s alive. So many people (and children) endure far worse. Also, the kid has a mouth on her like… never mind. She’s precious. I’m lucky to still have her.
Then in 2012 (as most of you know), I lost my dad. Saying I was a Daddy’s girl would be an understatement. That
man played a major role in who I am and how I live my life. When I lost him, I became so angry and depressed, and I felt so empty, it was really hard to maintain a happy face anywhere.
But I did it. Mostly. Okay, I know you guys endured some tearful bits and pieces. Sorry about that.
Losing my dad really slammed this whole “don’t sweat the small stuff” concept home for me. Life is hard. Publishing is hard. Being nice is hard. It’s all hard. Can you even believe I just wrote “hard” that many times? I know, right?
Anyway, dwelling on the negatives only makes life harder.
Social media is where I go to entertain, to promote my work and blow off steam. This morning I went to the Facebook and it was an angry and stressful place. Everywhere I looked it was either political or religious or just whiny and sad. If I have a chi, it is most certainly fucked by all the nasty on there. I was like, “Guys! Don’t bring your angry to Facebook. It’s not right.” And of course, they didn’t listen to me, because sadly, I don’t own the Facebook.
But how hard is it to just try to find the bright side? If you can’t find it, remember that if you were born in the 70’s to 80’s, you probably had a rat tail, a mullet, or a perm (or all three), so how can you ever take yourself too seriously? If you’re not old like me, well screw you.
My point (there’s always one eventually) is don’t let the vitriol loose in cyberspace where it will float around aimlessly until it finds a way to bite you right in the ball sack when you least expect it. Just leave it at home. (Should “ball sack” be one word? Hyphenated maybe? Bothers me.)
Personally, if I don’t make one person shoot coffee out their nose each day, then I’ve failed you all. I don’t cry about it, though. I just aim higher the next day.