The rules have changed.

Snarling wolf who has had enough of your fucking shit

Keeping things compartmentalized is the best way for me. Bet you are surprised to see me posting here. It was inevitable actually. I tried to make how I’m supposed to operate work for me and it has not. I’ve tried to fit into this new normal but I do not. So let’s do it this way- the personal stuff resides here. The travel/fun stuff is elsewhere. That way, I can still keep what makes me, me (which has been repressed and distressed for years now).

Aging is a bitch and a half, let me tell you, especially if you are a woman like me. Add into it the way my home country (and the world) seems to be heading, and I’ve been feeling kinda helpless and powerless… but part of that is again because I’ve been trying to fit into this fucking bullshit role that the world wants me to have to be “successful” and… I haven’t been successful, I’ve been miserable. Now mind you, success is subjective. On one hand, if being high up the latter in corporate America is success, then yes, I am an abject utter and total failure- and as much as I dig on myself and want to live the narrative that since it always goes wrong, it must be me (and yes, it is ME), that’s not the whole story, not when you really dig into everything – which nobody has the time, flash judgments, yo. I’ve got the skills to be in that role, both professionally and personally (no, really, hear me out), but what I don’t have is the ability to play that so important political game. If that’s part of being “up there” then deep down, I’m fucking PROUD to be a failure- because I still didn’t sell out, even when I was selling out. You feel me? So my failure is a success in a way? Ha!

But let’s do a reality check about the above… no matter what anyone says, money is the key and my life has been ruled by the lack of it, the insecurity, the constant financial drama due to me not being very educated on that until the past few years (yes, I’m smart and I’m brilliant but I can’t be amazing at everything and unfortunately, until recently, understanding money and finances and all that crap was my weakest point. It’s now one of my strengths but too little too late, you know.) So the struggles above had to keep happening and are yet still happening, to the detriment of my health but the benefit of me not ending up homeless… yet. It’s still looking very bleak but I dunno… whatever.

On the other hand, if you judge success as being constant self-improvement, self-growth, challenges, and experiences, then, my dear friends, I have been killing it, absolutely killing it. Unfortunately, to do that does require money as well so it’s basically Ouroboros. I am getting old but I am still pushing my limits as best as I can, though my health really has taken a nosedive (see paragraph number two).

But, the rules have changed. Life is changing and it’s time for me to change with it. Let me explain:

I’ve spent 40+ years acquiring things and trying to go somewhere that I just cannot be. I’ve been repressing the things that I love in order to try to survive… and I’m barely surviving, I’m definitely not thriving. I’ve been so, so sad because due to being a woman who becomes less relevant every day (and no, I don’t agree with it, it’s not right, and I keep screaming into the void but even the void is now ignoring me) and I’m really scared about my future since I have no support system what so ever. I’m sick of being ignored. I’m angry, I’m stressed, I’m sad, I’m depressed, I’m frustrated.

And then I remember that poem by Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

From The Poems of Dylan Thomas, published by New Directions. Copyright © 1952, 1953 Dylan Thomas. Copyright © 1937, 1945, 1955, 1962, 1966, 1967 the Trustees for the Copyrights of Dylan Thomas. Copyright © 1938, 1939, 1943, 1946, 1971 New Directions Publishing Corp. Used with permission.

And I realize “The rules must change”.

And so here were are… and I’m comfortable and at peace finally with what I must do. I don’t know if it will work, but like FUCK I am going to let this world take me out. After 40+ years of collecting, now is the time to start shedding.

I’m going through a massive overhaul of my possessions right now. If it isn’t something I really love or cannot be replaced, it’s getting tossed or sold. All the toys that I once thought were important have been gathering dust on my shelves. I bought them to have them, but I’m in a place now where I know those things really don’t bring me joy or help me in any way. I have tons of books that I read once but have no desire to read again and clothing that isn’t me anymore or even appropriate. Fuck, I would LOVE to relive my Tekwh0re years knowing what I know now but I can’t. Nobody wants to see my 46-year-old ass in a see-through dress. Unless it’s a vintage book, vintage piece of art, or I really, really love something, it’s getting tossed or sold. I’m being ruthless in my purging. Even my Wonder Woman collection is going. On top of that, I am only allowing myself to spend money on four categories:

  • Travel-related things or travel
  • Scuba Equipment
  • Computers or Electronics
  • Gaming
  • Part of the above- things I need to really start vlogging or telling stories.

No more sneakers, no more boots. No clothing unless I really need it*. No more plants, kitchen gadgets, furniture, or books (unless I want it for my kindle but no more physical media). I’m not going out to eat. I’m not ordering take-out. If I can fix something myself, I will. The name of the game is purge, purge, purge…

… so I can fit everything into a shipping container. I need to fit everything into a shipping container.

I have a goal and a plan and it’s crazy as fuck but I’m raging against you, and you and you. And I’m done being corporate, 100%. I probably only have 40 years left of my life if I am lucky. I’m not spending it anymore for what is asked or expected of me. I’m planning my great escape. I’m going out with a big fucking bang.

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